


Smell of Fear

by BlueBerryOatmeal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Scott, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Brief Sexual Content, Feral Behavior, First Full Moon, Implied/Referenced Sex, Kidnapping, M/M, Mates, Not Beta Read, Pack Dynamics, Reference to one night stands, Scenting, Some grammar errors, Some nakedness, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Werewolves, no one likes clowns, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-06 09:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15883320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueBerryOatmeal/pseuds/BlueBerryOatmeal
Summary: A night of fun quickly goes down hill fast for Stiles, first a rejection from his not-boyfriend, then a kidnapping he didn't ask for.>> In which Stiles gets bitten and mated by Derek.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write violence very often, or try to depict blood and injury a lot. So I'm making an attempt. So, small warning if you hate blood because it comes in quickly.

Stiles pursed his lips in thought. A soft hum vibrating in the back of his throat which expressed everything he was feeling all at once, a level of deep consideration and discomfort. For all the rogue werewolves, wendigos, even shapeshifters in the world, nothing could really compete with the lingering uneasiness he felt for carnival clowns. Sure, he'd seen deadlier things, been tossed around by monsters far more dangerous, stronger even, but there was something universally feared about some middle aged guy dressed in big balloon pants, with face paint and a fake nose, trying to hug and poke at you. He wasn't afraid of clowns per say. He wasn't going to scream bloody murder if one came near him. At the same time though, Stiles wasn't going to voluntarily get left alone with one. Unless he had a baseball bat. The last thing Stiles wanted was for some creepy guy in a curly wig trying to touch all up on him.

A heavy hand landing on his shoulder brought him back to reality. Thankfully because Stiles didn't need daydream nightmares of clown molestation. The light smack was sudden enough to cause him to jump though, and Stiles whipped around to see Scott smiling away at him with his naturally big goofy smile. There was an unspoken question written all over his face, all wide eyed and lips slightly parted. It was an expression he was quite familiar with by this point in their lives. It was kind of amazing how they could carry on full conversations through nothing but expression and body language. Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly trying to keep his heart rate under check and the embarrassment off his face.

“Hey, dude, you want a balloon animal?” he asked waving a hand in the direction of the carnival clown handing out colourful balloons to anyone who seemed remotely interested. But really, he looked to be almost pushing them on anyone who got within a five foot radius - the very reason why Stiles was keeping his distance in the first place. “I bet that guy could make you a cute little wolfie balloon.”

Stiles noticed the way Scott stiffened, lip twitching the way it did when he became confused over something he sensed or smelt. “Yeah...no, thanks,” he said after a minute. Whatever that was behind his tone gave all the confirmation Stiles needed to stay away from clowns for the rest of his life, but that didn't mean he couldn't still tease Scott about it. In fact, it would go against his duty as a friend to not tease him.

“Scared of clowns, Scottie?” Stiles laughed in short little snorts before he stepped passed his friend. Scott tried to deny it but was promptly ignored in favour of walking into the fenced off area that made up the carnival grounds. As he stepped into the crowd he said back over his shoulder, “come on, Scott. If the clown doesn't get ya maybe the tetanus or food poisoning will.”

Scott tagged along on his heels almost immediately. He threw his arm around Stiles' shoulders in an affection half hug/half mock choke hold.

It had been a while since they were all able to get together for no other reason than to have typical teenager-ly fun. It was weird not to have something or someone threatening to murder half the town. They didn't have to worry about a possible fight. There was no one trying to turn one of the pack into a wolf skin rug or taxidermy trophy. So when the annual carnival opened up, it was the perfect opportunity to get the gang all together for some of that good old fashioned, age appropriate, Sheriff-dad approved fun.

As the two slowly made their way through the hoards of people, Stiles gaped at the atmosphere of the carnival. For something that had been thrown up in under a day with probably a number of health and safety violations behind it, he felt like he was standing in a movie scene right out of the early 50s. There was something so unbelievably wholesome about it all, even with the sleazy vendors and rickety looking rides - which he was debating not getting on. Unless bribed, or threatened, or if Lydia asked nicely. Alright, so there was a high percentage that he'd willingly get on an impossibly wobbly ride and risk his life all in the name of fun. Wouldn't be the first stupid choice he ever made.

There was light repetitive music being pumped out through an old sound system and the smell of popcorn and hot dogs was everywhere. They had coloured string lights hanging over everything, bathing the area in a warm happy glow.

' _Fuck_ ,' Stiles thought. If there was a way to make it any closer to picture perfect, he'd puke. It was so cliche and cheesy. All he needed now was to win a stuffed bear in one of the many carnival games.

Stiles was about to suggest something like that to Scott but when he turned, the guy was already on his toes, looking through the crowd. He took off before Stiles could ask what he was doing. It shouldn't have been a surprise. For fuck sake, Scott had his Allison radar on 24/7. He could sniff out her shampoo from a mile away, through the rain, with a broken nose. Okay, no, that was probably not true, and Stiles was mostly exaggerating that statement. However, as Scott bound off to join her in line for cotton candy, Stiles couldn't help but think it was more accurate than anything.

Stiles watched him leave without a look back at his 'suppose to be best friend'. He blinked and waved his hand out in a 'what the fuck' kind of gesture. He'd been otherwise abandoned in the dust. _'Real cool, man.'_ Stiles sighed loudly, rolling his shoulders and pouting even though no one was paying him any attention.

The only thing worse than being single when the rest of your friends are in romantic relationships, is when all those friends are part of the same circle, leaving you out as the third, fifth or even ninth wheel. He was in a continuous loop of being the extra guy admits the couples no matter who he was out with. Scott and Allison, Lydia and Jackson, Boyd and Erica... The list went on, and changed up occasionally depending on who was caught flirting with who and when – but still! He was alone, forgotten, a proverbial island, as nature intended. Well, no, maybe he wasn't doomed to be alone forever. Stiles wasn't exactly the hermit type. That honour went to a certain scruffy, ill tempered wolf with a delicious ass.

He had a point or something but his train of the thought got derailed the second he started thinking of Derek's ass.

Stiles brain did a one-eighty when he eyed a familiar pair of slim pale legs, perfectly proportioned and twisted in an alluring stance. He'd know those legs anywhere. As he should, since he spent years staring at them from across classrooms, the lunch room, the field – because he was a weird stalker.

Soft white skin stretching for days, only to disappear under the hem of fabric shorts, cut all too high to be decent, but he'd never complain. It was totally tempting to stare – if he were his younger self. Young, naive, innocent Stiles would be thanking God and whatever other divine being he could name under the sun to be graced with such a sight. He'd happily stare for hours, mouth hanging open until droll hit the ground, completely unashamed. Thankfully however, he wasn't like that anymore, and he'd long gotten over that unhealthy obsession, with all its delusions and pining.

Now he had a whole new unhealthy obsession to waste his time thinking about. Some other beautiful creature with perfectly tanned skin and all the right curves, wrapped up in tight jeans and a leather jacket.

Let someone else admire Lydia for her perfectness. But still... with that said, he'd have to be blind to not appreciate seeing such a great pair of feminine legs.

Stiles slid up beside Lydia. His lips twisted up on one side, offering a bright and perky smirk. “Hiya!” he said.

Okay, honest to God truth, he wasn't just being friendly. Stiles was being a dick, hands down. He could admit that. But Jackson _fucking_ Whittemore was less than three feet away and he couldn't stop himself from doing his absolute best to make Jackson feel completely snubbed and invisible. Why? Mostly out of spite, some parts fun. Lydia and Jackson was on their fiftieth attempt at making their relationship work, and this time didn't seem to be the any better. They did better as friends with benefits more than a monogamous relationship, but Stiles held his opinion on that.

Stiles abrupt appearance was all it took to get Lydia to turn away from Jackson. She even gave him a big hug too, one which he enthusiastically returned. Yeah, he'd probably get a swift punch for it later on in the night, or a accidental drink spilt over his head, but for now she was hugging him and Jackson could suck it. Mission accomplished. The guy was dumb as a brick wall anyway. Lydia deserved better.

“You're late,” she said in a stating the obvious way. It kind of killed his buzz from the snuggle hug he was getting. Also because, no he wasn't.

Stiles pulled back to look at her. “What? No, no, I'm not. There was no designated meeting time. We didn't choose one. At best, we decided 'evening'. It's evening. See? Sun's going down. Evening. So... not late...”

“We've been here half an hour.”

Stiles leant back a little, ready to cross his arms in a defiant stance and lift his chin. “Then next time text. You all have phones. Or _scream_. That's a little more impractical but also a possibility.”

Lydia rolled her eyes and went back to loosely holding Jackson's arm, and he could not have looked more smug. “You're wrong, but whatever.”

Stiles finally graced Jackson with a look only because he was unavoidably in his line of sight now. The guy's expression hardened into a glare and Stiles rolled his eyes. It wasn't anything new. They've been doing this little dance since they met. Jackson's princess mentality demanded he get attention, even if he had to shoe horn his way into getting it.

Jackson nodded his head curtly, as if it was a polite greeting. “Stilinski,” was all he said, resigned to a flat tone.

“Whittemore,” Stiles replied, only sounding more sarcastic about it.

Then Lydia turned, stepping between them. It was a subtle way to break up the tension, drawing their focus back to her. She flipped her hair over one shoulder with a flourish. And just like that, any tension was defused. Stiles still wasn't sure how she did that some times. However he didn't miss the way she smiled, all proud of herself like she'd just done something more impressive than what it was.

Lydia shot him a glance and start to speak. “So! Pretty much everyone is here now, since they can tell time. Isaac is here somewhere. He just got distracted by something shiny and took off. So, we'll grab him at some point. Now, we're just waiting on Cora and Derek.”

“What?” Stiles paled a little. “Derek's coming? Seriously? Why?”

“Because we invited him, duh?” Jackson scoffed and crossed his arms.

Stiles so badly wanted to tell him to go ram a skewer up his ass but instead he clamped his jaw shut. He didn't have the mental focus to start throwing threats around right now. The potential _Derek_ was far too distracting in all the worst ways. His back was suddenly all tense, and fuck, when did his palms get so sweaty?

He took a long breath and hoped no one noticed how uneasy he suddenly felt. Stiles eyed all his friends curiously. They were all distracted by the many sights and smells of the carnival. His elevated heart rate would definitely go unnoticed here. ' _Thank God for that_ ', he thought.

It wasn't that Stiles didn't want to see Derek. Actually, it was quite the opposite. He'd gone too long without seeing the grumpy, antisocial, jerk face. He wanted to see Derek so badly that he felt like any second he was going to spontaneously combust. There was no way he could spend a whole evening hanging out with the guy. Not after what happened between them... Stiles swore up and down he'd never sleep with a friend ever again after to all this crap. It's never a good idea, matter how hot the friend is.

One week ago, give or take a few days, because Stiles was too lost in his own mind to pay attention to that things like dates. One week was just a good rounded off point in time to generalize his thoughts. After a brief pack meeting to talk about, something he couldn't even remember, Stiles hung back with Derek at his loft. For a long while, the two were just comfortable being quiet and enjoying the others company. Occasionally Stiles would voice a stray thought or idea and it would get some sort of response out of the wolf.

Then - and however it started because Stiles wished he knew what exactly set Derek off - they night turned into a long awaited fling of aggressive, sweaty, overly enthusiastic sex. Many, many times. Over many hours. All over Derek's loft. There were still residual bruising on his back from when Derek have him laid out over the spiral staircase, the steps digging into his shoulder blade. Whatever pain he could have felt from that step at the time had been completely over powered by the feeling of Derek's body pressing down on him, thrusting into him for all he was worth.

Then there was the floor, the wall, the couch, the counter top, and eventually Derek's bed. It really was a battle between the sex drive of a teenage boy and pure werewolf stamina. And maybe the werewolf won in the end, who knows. However, by the end of it Stiles mind was so blown he didn't know up from down, or how to walk straight.

Stiles shook that vivid image out of his head real quick. He really couldn't spend this evening thinking about Derek's naked body doused in sweat, looming over him like a starved predator. It was going to make him pop a very embarrassing boner. Stiles cursed his lack of willpower in these kinds of situations.

Even though it had been amazing and wonderful and completely and utterly confusing, neither Stiles nor Derek had found the balls to see each other since then. The morning after went just about as awkward as any other interaction they'd ever had. Stiles had been offered some coffee but not breakfast. Derek offered him a clean shirt to wear home but not the opportunity to shower before leaving. And he didn't mind at the time, because Stiles wasn't sure what post-sex-hookup rules were and what he should have been entitled to. So, he just smiled and went along with whatever Derek gave him.

Eventually, Stiles had to head home. Dressed in his own jeans and borrowed t-shit shirt Stiles left. He didn't expect a kiss goodbye or anything, and he didn't trying to steal one. They weren't a thing. At least, he's pretty sure they aren't a thing. Again, they didn't talk about it. In fact, they went about their morning like it never happened. So Stiles had gone home too wound up on his 'I had sex' high that it never bothered him. But days went by without a call or text. He didn't see Derek anywhere around town. Usually he ran into him every few feet by chance, except now. It left a bad taste in his mouth, like he'd done something wrong. Now he was left to regret every life decision he'd ever made out of compensation for the 'Derek incident'.

Yes, he could man up and call Derek, but he didn't want to. He didn't want to have to be the first one to call. Maybe he wanted to feel _wanted_. He wanted to feel worth the effort. For all his pining and stalking and begging, why couldn't someone chase after him for a change. Was that so much to ask? Apparently so since he hadn't heard anything from Derek in days.

It had been maybe twelve hours after their night of exploded sexual tension that Stiles told Lydia what happened – mostly because his ability to keep something like that a secret might actually give him an aneurysm. Werewolves – Fine. Witches – Why not. He's accept viable proof of jackalopes. However, sex with Derek Hale was something he'd never even conciser to be plausible in his life time. A beautiful fantasy to masturbate to – yes, but only that. So, the fact he made it twelve hours was an amazing act of self-control.

Lydia had been so understanding, almost happy for him, right up to the point where Stiles said he hadn't heard from Derek yet. She wasn't so amused then. Admittedly, she was kind of angry acting like Derek had kicked Stiles to the curb after sex. Stiles didn't think it was like that, but he also didn't know one night stand etiquette like Lydia did.

So why had she invited the guy here tonight? Was she just laughing at him, after being so supportive of his broken self esteem? It was just mean. This was a total set up. Who else knew? He bet they all did by now. They were all doing this to him on purpose. Stiles groaned and looked at Lydia with a face that demanded pity.

“Lydia, really?” he whimpered like a kicked puppy. She lightly smacked his arm, not buying into his behaviour.

“You need a better way of dealing with this. He'll be here soon, so...” she wagged her fingers at him absentmindedly. “Grow up.”

“What's the matter, Stilinski? Hale hand you your ass again? Embarrassed?” Jackson cut in. Okay, he definitely didn't know anything about the whole sex thing. If Jackson knew, there was no way Stiles wouldn't have been teased yet. No one would make fun of Derek though, just him.

_'You could say so-'_ “None of your business,” he said quickly, fixing him with an unimpressed glare and looped his arm around Lydia's. Stiles cozied up to her ear, hissing at her accusingly. “You told.”

“I did not. Unlike Scott, I keep your dirty little secrets. Doesn't matter now anyway. They're coming this way. Have fun.” She patted his arm and went to pull out of his grip.

“What-?” Alarm bells sounded in his head. The sudden rush of panic through his system was no doubt sending all the wrong signals to all the wrong people but he couldn't help that. His heart started to pound too heavily. Stiles could feel the blood pumping in his ears. His face became hot and he couldn't breath. Stiles hands grabbed at the air trying to snag onto Lydia again but when they caught nothing they found their way into his hair, making it even more of a knotted mess than it had been before. Subtly thy name is Stiles.

Lydia took his sudden panic as her opportunity to spin around and leave him too. Traitor. Sure, she was the queen of tough love but this was just plain cruel. Stiles stared as Lydia's strawberry blonde hair disappeared behind someone in the crowd. His hands took up work gripping and tugging on the hem of his t-shirt, stretching at the blue fabric restlessly. He bounced from one leg to the other until he couldn't take it any longer and spun around.

At first he didn't see them, his attention being grabbed by every bright colour and quick movement of the crowd and nearby booths. A part of him had expect them to be right there in front of his face to witness his freak out. Or he'd turn and smack face first into Derek's chest. Because that's be classy.

Instead, Derek and Cora were taking their sweet time coming along the lane of booths, ignoring the crowd around them. Stiles clearly saw Cora first and made eye contact with her before she even made it to him. She had her permanent sarcastic, resting bitch face going on. There was no judgmental glance or humour on her face that he could find. Maybe she didn't know. Maybe all this could blow over without anyone else finding out. And eventually, after a lot of awkward encounters, Stiles and Derek could go back to just being tolerable acquaintances. This thought eased his tension just enough for Cora to pass by without a second glance. That was until Derek came up behind her...

Derek and his stupid sexy face. That stupid face with all that stupid sexy stubble and permanent brow crease. Stiles bit down on his lip hard enough to leave a sizable impression of his front teeth. The guy looked too calm, so unreadable that it was unfair. Stoicism was his superpower. The way he walked, shoulders relaxed back, hands loose by his sides – he was so neutral. If he was nervous, mad, or upset, you'd never know it. His whole persona screamed indifferent.

Fuck, it pissed Stiles off because the very sight of Derek in that tight olive coloured shirt, sleeves pushed up his thick forearms to show off lean muscle and dark hair, made him want to go over there and rip his pants off. Or punch him in the jaw. One or the other. Maybe both. Stiles puffed out his cheeks before letting out a heavy sigh. He forced himself to look elsewhere. ' _Wow, corn dogs look gross before they're fried. Yup, distracted...'_

The familiar smell of hair product and mild cologne hit Stiles like a freight train despite its barely there scent among the burning oil of multiple deep fryers. He turned too quickly and wound up with a shoulder in his face. Yup, there it was, cliche yet wonderful. The strong shoulder was encased in soft cotton. It was warm and smelt amazing, a bit like laundry detergent and a bit like leather, all wrapped up in the musk sent that was all Derek. Stiles wanted to sink his teeth into the hard muscle underneath – again. His cheek nuzzled against the shirt seeking more of that warm feeling it gave him, but paused very quickly when realizing what he was doing. Stiles all but threw himself backward trying to put some distance between them. A good casual, friendly half-arm to arms length distance. Nothing sexually suggestive about that.

Although, he did toppled over his own sneakers jumping back like that. It didn't even register in his mind that he was falling until a large hand wrapped itself around his upper arm and helped straightened him out. It was a firm grip and it lingered on his arm longer than needed, but it was a welcoming weight and Stiles was more than disappointed to feel the fingers lax and pull away. A light whine left his throat before he could stop it. It was small, but there was no way Derek didn't hear it clear as a bell.

Embarrassed, Stiles looked up into the stern face greeting him after a solid week of what was, at least to him, was an amazing experience. He tried not to blush, hoping that he seemed somewhat collected and calm. Stiles just refuse to acknowledge the fact that his face was beet red and he was mildly sweating. When in doubt, ignore the problem until it goes away. Then everything would go back to how it was before - normal. What else could he do?

“Hey! Der-Derek. You. Yup, hi!” Stiles pipped up with way too much enthusiasm. He offered up what was suppose to be a confident smile. But all he got in return was a nod of acknowledgement before Derek pushed passed the crowd around them, making sure to side step and avoid any more unnecessary physical contact with Stiles other than a brush of their clothes.

Stiles was struck literally speechless, which was rare for him. He turned and watched the man follow his sister and the rest of their pack along the row of food vendors. There was nothing, no reaction, Derek didn't even look back to see if Stiles was coming too.

_'Uhmm, hello?'_ Stiles' brow screwed together in disbelieve. No usual half smile, no 'hi' back, no nothing. Sure, he knew this was going to be weird for a while but this was so much worse. He was good on the whole 'let's not discuss our feelings and just go back to being weird unlikely friends, but don't call me that in public' kind of thing. Stiles was prepared for that. Hell, he was prepared for a soul crushing 'let's just be friends' conversation at some point. But what the hell was this?

_'What the actual fuck?'_ Stiles huffed, a strangled laugh bubbling up from his chest. Was this the Derek Hale method of dumping someone, because it freaking sucked ass.

The longer he stood alone in the dirt, Stiles stunned embarrassment was becoming murderous rage at an alarming rate. He kept wringing his hands, occasionally popping a knuckle from the pressure. For once he sure hoped those wolf senses could pick up on how he was feeling because he was beyond pissed. He was so mad he wanted to take one of the big hammers from the 'Wack-a-Mole' game and smack Derek upside the head. Oh, that'd make him feel worlds better. Reluctantly, Stiles followed after them without a word.

As he caught up to them he held his head high. There was no way he was going to let Derek see him break down over their... whatever it was. Which he was. His hands were shaking. His chest hurt like he'd been stabbed. And there was a stinging in his eye from the threat of legit tears that he would not shed. Stiles knew the others were catching on by the repeated looked he was getting. It wasn't like he could hide how his heart was beating at a million mph or the passive aggressive rage brewing away within him. Scott looked on edge about it. But for whatever reason, no one was jumping up to call him out on it. Just the occasional, 'you good, man?' from Scott or a 'dude...breathe' from the brief appearance of Isaac. Stiles simply respond with an extremely cheery 'yeah, sure,' before going back to whatever it was they were doing at the time.

It was funny how they seemed to care more about how he was doing than the alpha barely standing six feet away from them. God, it made Stiles so mad. Derek wouldn't even look at him for long, wouldn't speak to him, or come within arms reach. What kind of alpha was he to let a pack member sulk from a bruised heart, or friend for that matter? He didn't even look just a little sympathetic or guilty.

So fine, if he was to be ignored, Stiles was going to go out of his way to make sure that was impossible. He wouldn't keep quite. He was extra fidgety. If necessary, he'd blame it on his ADHD. Stiles forced himself into Derek's field of vision at every opportunity, while at the same time acting like Derek wasn't even there. He could play the cold shoulder game too.

They played obnoxiously rigged games. They went on a few of the rides Stiles swore he wouldn't get anywhere near. Honestly, it would have been a lot of fun. He would have had a blast if it weren't for the six foot, 200 pound wolf that was driving him crazy by merely existing.

But after a couple of hours, he couldn't even fake it anymore. Stiles was simply mad and depressed all at the same time. Scott saddled up beside him and lightly elbowed his side. Stiles jumped nearly a foot in the air he was so wound up. He glared at his friend a little.

“Dude... I'm going to keep asking, what's up with you tonight?” The sheer amount of concern in Scott's voice was very touching, but it did nothing to take away the pain and anger Stiles was trying to shove down into the depths of his being. So, he shrugged it off and smiled.

“I'll probably tell ya later. Not now. Not here anyway. It's fine. I'm fine. Don't worry about it. Hey look, a ferris wheel.” And before Scott could reply, Stiles was already dragging him off in the direction of the large ride. There was no protest out of his friend at his side but Stiles knew that if he looked back those big puppy eyes would be trying to guilt him into telling the truth.

Thankfully the line was short and it didn't take long for everyone willing to pile on in pairs of two or three. Stiles volunteered to ride with some person he didn't know because he was already the odd one out, so why pretend. It was at least quieter this way and the stranger sharing his seat didn't ask him if he was alright. The safety bar was lowers and locked them into place before the ride lurched forward with a strained metallic squeal. The sharp noise made his ears hurt. This was how he'd die, a malfunctioning carnival ride. Or better yet, the ride would get stuck and someone would have to come save him because he didn't possess the upper body strength to climb down. Yay for him...

But whatever... Stiles let his shoulder sag as he relax over the seat's rail. From up high, he got a perfect view of the whole carnival. All the lights twinkled in the dying day time light and out shone the on coming stars. He could still hear the music but it was muted and lost from the distance. It was quieter and Stiles was thankful for the short break from the constant noise and crowd. He crossed his arms over the bar in front of him. The cooling night air helped calm his jittering down to a light tap of his finger on the metal.

He finally broke and glanced down toward the line up below them. Derek stood off to one side – alone. Apparently he was too cool for kiddie rides like ferris wheels. Stiles just told himself it was actually because he didn't want to be locked into a seat near him. No where to run when your a few stories off the ground. He huffed on a sad laugh, picturing Derek jumping from the top of the ferris wheel in order to get away from him. The idea made his heart hurt, like there was a vice grip tightening around it, making it hard to breath.

Did Derek hate him now, or was he just being an awkward potato? Had Stiles fucked up somewhere? Were there some weird werewolf hook up rules he didn't know about? They both had equal opportunities to pick up a fucking phone to call or text. They could have talked about this like adults. But nope, nothing. Zilch. Nada. Stiles balled his hands into tight fists, letting his blunt nails press painfully into his palms. His stomach flipped as he felt the last of his anger dissipate leaving only numbing heartache. He hated it, hated feeling used and unwanted.

With a heavy sigh which pulled the attack of the person next to him, Stiles sat back with a certain level of resignation. If Derek wanted to avoid him, fine. Stiles would give him all the space he could ever want. He also kind of hoped that when this inevitably blew up Lydia would turn Derek into a fur coat, because fuck it all.

The ride ended after a few long minutes which pressed on his nerves. Each seat had to be emptied out individually and the ride operator was sure taking his time. The bar on his own seat was unlocked and lifted and Stiles was jumping out faster than the bar could be moved all the way up. He didn't apologize as he scooted under the bar and marched off the platform, away from the farris wheel. He wasn't in the mood for the carnival anymore.

He heard Scott yell his name over the crowd but that didn't stop him. As much as he appreciated his friend's over protective concern, he just wanted to be alone for a while. Stiles kept walking and quickly got lost in the mass of bodies. He did looked over his shoulder every now and then, but he didn't see any of his friends following. It was probably for the best. He didn't want to start an argument with them about personal space.

Somewhere between the merry-go-round and 'the test your strength' game his phone started to buzz in his back pocket. The drowned out song playing was barely audible over his surroundings. The familiar tune told him it was Lydia calling him, no doubt to call him a baby and order him to come back. Stiles shook his head and let it ring. He wasn't sure why they were bothering. Half of them were werewolves for crying out loud. They could easily tell he was upset and if walking out on them wasn't an indications of wanting to be alone, then he was seriously questioning their intelligence.

He shrugged, shoulders slumping forward in defeat. With a heavy sigh, Stiles decided it was best he headed home for the night. There was nothing for him here with all the whimsy and happy anyway.

Stiles took out his phone and sent a quick text to Scott out of an over active sense of guilt. It wasn't anything too long, just a few short lines saying he was heading home and that they would talk later. Once the message was sent, Stiles turned his phone off completely and returned it to his back pocket. He cared about his friends, really and truly, however right now he needed a break.

Stiles walked through the lanes of attractions, dragging his feet through the dirt. He looked at the toy prizes as he passed some games. Who needed a three foot stuffed, poorly made, blue teddy-bear anyway? Stiles pouted. He did, he decided. Well, only if a certain poorly made man won it for him. Stiles snorted, knowing full well that would never happen. As much of a soft, lovable pushover Derek could be - because he knew his Sourwolf was a total sweetheart at the core - Stiles doubted that he'd ever go out of his way to win him a sweatshop built toy worth less than the game itself.

Stiles didn't even want the bear really. That wasn't even the point. The point was that Derek was fully willing to stalk him, save his ass when needed, and do his usual den mothering, but he would not lift a finger to show him any sort of emotion or feeling. He hoped after what they had done, something would have had to come out of it, even if they were just weekend fuck buddies with the occasional snuggle fest in front of a movie. He would have been cool with that. He would have been cool with it being a one-off and they went back to being friends. For crying out loud, it wasn't like he was asking for a marriage proposal. But No – Derek wanted to pretend like he was invisible.

Stiles groaned, getting lost in the sea of people and games. It wasn't like it was all that big. It just weaved in and around the vacant lot, creating a mini maze with no direct lines to the exit. It was like a bloody IKEA. _'Cagey bastards...'_

He finally made it to the exit without being trampled or molested by any clowns. Thankfully because his night could not get any worse. He was ready to head home, lay in bed and try to turn his brain off for a few hours.

The parking lot just outside the gates was drastically more quiet, with its organized lines of parked cars and vacant sidewalk. The annoyingly repetitive music died away into the background as he walked along the sidewalk and eventually gave way to the buzz of the street lamps and the occasional insect. Other than that, it was peaceful nothingness. No people to bother him. Sure, there were probably a dozen of unread texts on his phone by now, but he chose not to think about those. Stiles ruffled his hair out of habit before digging into his jean pocket for his keys.

The keys jingled together in his palm, bouncing off the numerous novelty key chains. By this point he had more key chains than actual keys. Stiles looked down as he walked, having to sort out the mess of plastic and metal that tangled and knotted together. He was starting to think he needed to throw out at least half of them when suddenly his world went sideways. Everything happened too quickly after that for him to truly register what was happening. One moment he was standing and the next all he could focus on was the scrape of the concrete along his cheek.

The breathe that had been knocked out of him came back in an almost painful gasp. He coughed and sucked in what air he could around the dirt and dust by his mouth. Stiles groaned and blinked. His eyes threatened to close as his body lay unresponsive. All he could feel of his body was the rush in his veins, blood pumping towards his brain like hot lava. Everything else felt ice cold.

For a minute his eyes won the battles and closed against his will. Everything remained black for what felt like an eternity. So, when Stiles managed to blink, he wasn't sure of time or anything. He could barely remember where he was for a brief second. His whole body felt all too weightless and cold. There was dirt stuck to his lip that he wanted to brush off but couldn't. Instead Stiles slowly turned his head to the side a little. A pebble dug into his temple. He could feel the size and shape and how it pressed into his skin, but it didn't hurt. Why didn't it hurt?

A buzzing slowly returned to his ears, hollow and deep like he was under water. He became aware of his limbs again which was good. Stiles took an uneven breath before making the bad choice of trying to lift his head. Hot throbbing pain shot up his spine and left him instantly feeling dizzy and sick. His forehead met the unforgiving concrete once more and the rocks the wanted to embed themselves into his cheek. It felt oddly cooling against his skin when it shouldn't be. Stiles made an effort to stifle the cry of pain forcing its way out by pressing his lips together tightly, but it found a way out all the same.

Beyond the buzzing in his ears were muffled voices, deep and urgent, like there was an argument going on. It shouldn't have sounded like a hushed whisper because it was still loud to his ears. Stiles tried to ignore his pain, tried to keep his eyes open. This was probably important. But it was hard. The world around him wanted to slip away into the dark clouds that framed his vision.

“-you sure?”

Another voice joined in, a lot calmer than the last. “Yes..-..him...-...as said.”

The second voice was followed by a grating laugh. “That alpha-... better be right.”

Yup, this felt all too familiar now. Stiles grunted and moved slowly, wanting to push himself up off the ground. Smart idea or not, his palms pressed down into the concrete, shoulders screaming in protest, arms shaking and trying to not slip out from under him. He tried but he couldn't move. There was no strength left in him. His whole body wanted to give out and lay pliant against the concrete. With a trembling hand, Stiles cautiously pulled his arm close to his body, reaching for he base of his skull. The gentle touch to his hair line was like being gabbed with a hot knife it hurt so bad.

He couldn't see the damage done to the back of his head, obviously, but it hot and wet. The hand fell back to the sidewalk next to his face. Though his eye sight was blurring out on him, Stiles could tell his finger tips were sticky and slick. He smelt copper and sweat. _'Oh yeah, that's blood...'_ Stiles thought to himself with a bit of fear. Stiles willed his eyes to stay open.

He could still hear the otherwise occupied nimrods talking somewhere behind him. They shuffled around and he heard a car door open. This was not good, and he couldn't get up. They could kill him and there was no way he could fight back or run. Stiles panicked, heart pounding in his chest.

It took all his energy to move but he managed to twist on the ground enough to see what was going on around him. A man stepped into his field of vision with dramatic long strides. He was tall and large, but looked more like a poor excuse for a gruff biker than a professional hunter. The unsheathed bowie knife freely hanging through his belt was a dead give away that these guys were incredibly dense, trying to show off instead of being competent. They probably came cheap on the job and never actually faced off against a were- _anything_ before. Stiles wasn't sure to be happy about that observation or worried because it might mean they get trigger happy and wouldn't hesitate to over compensate for their lack of experience with violence against him if necessary.

The guy looked down at him, clearly amused by something if the shit eating grin on his face was any clue. “Trying to go somewhere? I'd love to see that, kid. Go ahead, try. Run. I'll even give you a head start.”

Stiles strained his eyes in order to roll them. He was barely keeping it together enough to stay awake. If he had the mind to, he wished he could tell the guy off but his when his mouth opened only a cracked groan came out. It had been worth a shot. And even if it went unseen, Stiles fingers curled to offer up am extremely lazy middle finger.

The second hunter, some skinny guy with a bad shaggy haircut, saddled up behind his buddy looking confused. This guy was definitely not the one in charge. You could tell by the stupid expression he had. “What are you doing? We just caught him.”

“Will you shut up!” was snapped back abruptly and the guy was shoved away.

Stiles would love to have named them dumb and dumber, or something snappy for a duo of idiots, but his foggy mind settled on Wannabe Biker-Dude and Lapdog. Without being able to see much, he assumed it was just the two of them. No one else was yelling or stomping around that he could hear.

It wouldn't be hard to scream or potentially run, he wasn't far from a heavily populated area where someone might see him, but everything was spinning and just the act of rolling his head to the side made him want to hurl up every last bit of the cotton candy he'd eaten at the carnival. But even faced with that truth, it didn't stop Stiles from wondering how far he might have made it before they hit him again. Harder. Repeatedly. Until his brains splattered over the concrete like non solidified cherry jello.

Because that's a happy thought...

He already had a shit evening, like hell we wanted to be beaten to death and skinned as a message to Scott, or Der, or who ever the fuck they were trying to annoy tonight. Well fine, if someone was going to use him as bait or leverage, he'd send his own message. Stiles watched the two morons briefly, curious as to what they were doing, but they seemed to just want to argue and not actually get anything done. He thanked them for their ineptitude only for a second before he curled his arm close again. Stiles knew it would hurt before he even touched his neck and braced himself for it the best he could.

The slightest touch to the broken skin burned and sent another jolt of pain through his head, leaving his vision spotted with white dots. He gasped and blinked. Head rolling to the side, the world spun out of control around him.

Before everything threatened to fade away on him, Stiles could feel the blood, fresh and sticky on his fingers. Slowly he dragged them across the sidewalk in long lines. Even in the dark the little circle wouldn't go unnoticed by enhanced werewolf vision and a keen nose. Scott might be oblivious on the best of days but he'd smell fresh blood for miles. And it better be Scott who sniffs him out because he couldn't handle dealing with anyone else tonight.

A boot landed square between his shoulder blades pushing him flat against the sidewalk. The air was squeezed out of his lungs causing him to cough on the dirt that flew up around him. It clung to his lips and tongue. A pathetic moan scratched at his throat but he still refuse to lay down and surrender so easily. He'd die fighting. Stiles held the tension in his muscles and prepared himself to be kicked or hit again, but instead, a hand replaced the boot at his back too quickly for him to react. It hauled him off the ground entirely by his t-shirt.

Stiles stumbled backwards over his own feet, not finding the coordination to hold his own weight. His knees wobbled and were threatening to give out. Even as they buckled and bent, the hands on him wasn't letting go. Something was said between the two men but the pumping of blood rushing through his own ears made everything sound drowned out and he couldn't catch a word of it. He tumbled over his shoes before the man holding him up spun him into the arms of his buddy.

“I'll drive.”

Stiles was just going to blame it on the lack of blood in his brain for choosing now of all times to get lippy. Or maybe it was some brilliant plan to stall in case help would come. Maybe later when he looked back on the situation, he'd go with the ladder. Still, Stiles gave a light chuckle even as his body folded over the arm around him. He looked between the two with as much judgment as he could muster between wincing in pain and trying not to blackout.

“You two are really stupid. Is this your first time kidnapping someone? I mean, we're still in public. Someone could easily come by any second. Or hear this – HEL-”

A hand slapped over his mouth firmly. It only muffled the sound, not actually cutting it off. Stiles wasn't sure why people thought this kept anyone quiet. He still yelled through a closed mouth, gargling out insults in the back of his throat. It got pretty loud for how horse and dry his throat was. And he was literal seconds away from licking the fucker's hand to get it away from his face, but he was too quickly lifted off the ground and roughly manhandled over the curb and into the back of a truck. Stiles tried to keep up a struggle, tried to wriggled and fight back. However, he simply couldn't do it. His body was ungracefully dropped onto the hard truck bed and all he could manage to do was lay there.

At least it wasn't a white pedo van, Stiles thought with mild approval. Not that he was giving these two hunters credit for doing anything right. He blinked his blurred eyes. Through the haze he was able to tell that he was laying in a sturdy black truck with a large back end, complete with a hard cover. It was the kind of truck for off-roading or construction, nothing all that suspicious for a small town where ever other person owned a similar type of truck.

Stiles attention was quickly dragged back to his kidnappers by a violent tug to his arm. His shoulder popped awkwardly and he gasped in pain. Arms force back and down, a few zip-ties were fastened around his wrists to bind them in place. The plastic was drawn tight, biting into the skin of his forearm. The tension was enough to make his joints pop, wanting to dislocate. Stiles kicked and jerked back to get away from the two men.

For how shitty of a job this kidnapping was, Stiles was starting to genuinely panic. He blindly kicked out to keep himself safe, but his ankle was grabbed tightly. It was held still long enough for his shoe to be pulled off, sock along with it. Then the other followed.

The second his ankles were released, Stiles curled them up behind himself. The two men laughed at him before closing the back end of the truck, locking Stiles in the dark, confined space. He couldn't sit up or roll over very well. The grooved floor of the truck bed bit into his shoulder and hip. Normally he didn't get claustrophobic but this was still unnerving, and it was getting harder to keep his already erratic breathing in check.

The heavy casing over the back made all sound from outside vertically mute, no matter how quiet he was or how hard he listened. Stiles felt that it'd be the same if he were to try and scream. Desperate all the same, Stiles gave one cry for help. His voice croaked and cracked, barely making a sound to his own ears let alone anyone possibly passing by.

“...Help...please...Scott...” He coughed and swallowed dirt. “Derek...”

The truck started up, rattling the back end of the truck and Stiles along with it. As it started to move, Stiles was bounced around violently. Every time the tires squealed around a turn his body was sent sliding to one edge of the truck. Without his hands to stop him, he more than once face planted into the siding.

Between the speeding and concussion, the possibility of Stiles throwing up because more of a question of how many times he would throw up before the ride was over.

By the time the truck levelled out, Stiles had one foot planted against the side of the truck, trying to ground himself. After all the rolling and jostling, he could only assume the smooth, continuously straight line they were travelling in meant they were on a stretch of highway. To where, he had no idea.

“Fuck...” He groaned pathetically and rolled onto his back, out of the warm puddle of his own vomit. It felt almost impossible to keep his eyes focused into the dark. They wanted to close and drag him down into a nice peaceful sleep. He didn't think he was bleeding that badly any more. And while the pain in his neck was now a deep, nauseating throb, he couldn't do much for the open wound with his hands bound and wedged under his backside. But sleep sounded so nice, would feel so good. There was no pain there.

To keep himself awake, Stiles tried to keep track of how long they drove. Unfortunately his braid didn't want to stay focused on counting for too long. Ten minutes or so, give or take, was all he counted to before giving up. The truck was going somewhere in an obvious hurry, and when or where they stopped wasn't exactly in his control. Stiles cursed the highway patrol for not doing their job watching for speeders, because they were definitely speeding. Frustrated Stiles whined and bit his lip.

“Damn it!” He kicked at the covering above him like it could feel pain. There wasn't a lot of space to get any good force behind his kick, but it made him feel a bit better to take his anger out on something. “Any time now, Scott. Come on buddy!”

Really, had no one come after him? They all just let him go home with such little a fight? Yes, he told Scott he didn't want to talk about what had gotten into him – but when the fuck in the history of the world did Scott ever take that seriously? Them 'not talking' because one of them were upset, or mad, lasted an hour at the longest. Scott should at least have noticed he wasn't getting an apology text right about now.

Stiles wriggled around, his bound hand trying to reach his back pockets. Annoyingly, they were tied together so closely that his elbows kept wanting to touch, putting his hands a lot farther down from his pockets. He could feel the curve of his phone inside his pocket, nestled under his ass. He just couldn't reach it. Stiles grit his teeth and pushed his luck, going as far as to kick his pants lower on his hips, but it wasn't quite enough. At this rate he'd dislocate a shoulder before getting at his phone. And even if he did get his cell, he'd have to still turn it on and some how call Scott from behind his back. Stiles honestly believed he could do that. He'd sent enough distracted texts and under the table texts at school. He could, in theory, call the right person from behind his back. Still, at it was he couldn't reach it and if he bounced around too much he ran the risk of breaking his phone all together.

“Fuck...”

A little defeated, Stiles lay still trying to gain control of his tunnel vision.

It felt like the better half of an hour before the road under the truck started to feel bumpy again. First some pot holes here and there, then large divots which definitely felt like gravel and dirt, and a fucking log. Stiles caught air on one of the sudden drops, making him turn and land on his face. The plastic of the truck bed rubbed and scrapped along his cheek. It burned and left him crying out in pain.

After what felt like forever, the truck was shut off. The engine no longer vibrated through his little prison and he could hear too much of his own pathetic whimpering. Yeah, he felt very brave and manly. Stiles bit his lip.

When the back of the truck opened he couldn't even find the strength to jump or try to move back. He was too out of it and lacked the strength. Stiles was pulled out of the container and was forced to stand on his bare feet. The sun had set long ago and the patch of gravel they were parked in wasn't exactly lit well. There were no street lamps in the area or city light pollution to deal with, only natural moon light. He could barely make out the area well but not enough to remember it if necessary. There was a decently kept farm house smack dab in the middle of a large, almost empty lot. Far off to the back of the house were trees. Even if he ran at his fastest, Stiles would never make it there.

Stiles took one step forward when shoved but his bare feet skidded over sharp rocks and twigs. He stumbled over into one of his kidnappers. Arms bound, he couldn't catch himself or keep himself from leaning on the guy. A hand was put on his back, gripping his shirt tightly and yanking him up.

Stiles' head rolled a little, walking was not something he could keep up for long. It sent too much blood to his head, which left him feeling hot. “I'm gonna throw up on you.”

“Walk,” the hunter barked, pushing Stiles along.

They headed toward the farm house in a tense silence. Every few steps Stiles would slip or jump on a sharp rock, almost guaranteeing that he wouldn't run. In his delirious state, he couldn't barely feel the shard of glass embedding itself into his heel. The sensation was just a cold spark under his one foot.

The farm house up close was much more worn down than it first looked. The white and blue paint was peeling. The shudders were cracked and busted. As one of the hunters leapt up the few porch steps, the boards bent like they would snap under his weight. He disappeared into the house without so much as a glance back. Stiles took an assuming step toward the stairs but was quickly turned away and lead around to the side of the house. In the dark, he almost could have over looked the cellar door nestled into the over grown grass. It looked pretty rusted and worn. The hunter pulled one of the doors open and let it fall back against the house's siding.

“Get in there, you were-whore,” the guy swatted at his shoulder to hurry him along. This guy was not as big of a drama queen as his biker buddy. Stiles gave him a sideways glance before cautiously stepping down onto the first narrow stair.

Stiles couldn't help himself though, “ _Were_ -man. Man whore. Funny.” He snorted to himself over the poor excuse of an ironic joke.

The wood was splintering and bowed under his foot. The second step creaked. On the third he was impatiently shoved forward. His feet just managed to move quick enough in order to get him down the stairs, but it did not keep him standing for long. His bare heel sunk into the wet clay floor, squelching and suctioning him to the ground. Balance thrown, Stiles fell to his knees in the mud. The cellar door was slammed shut behind him. A heavy and loud lock set in place over the slim gap.

Stiles took a shaky breath. His heart pound heavy in his chest. It was too dark, even if his eyes wanted to adjust. Shaking and on the brink of a panic attack, he slowly pulled his legs through the thick clay, crawling awkwardly across the room. Carefully he came to sit up against the cellar wall. The uneven brick scratched at his ties arms and strained shoulders, but it was sturdy and held him up right. For once in his life, Stiles wished he was more bendy and flexible. It'd be really helpful if he could do some cool yoga-style back bend and slip his binds under his feet and have his hands out in front again. Though of course, he was no where close to that level of flexible. Maybe he would work on that later, after he'd gotten out of this mess – talk Lydia into taking some trendy yoga class with him or something. Stiles closed his eyes and sighed.

He gave an uncomfortable shimmy. There was a light plastic, fibre glass crackling sound. The lump in his back pocket that was his phone, now wedged between his ass and the ground, crinkled whenever he shifted. Broken screen at best. Of course...

Stiles blinked as his head lolled to the side, threatening to drop. He just needed to focus his attention on being bait, or whatever it was he was being used for. Biting his lip though the nonstop pain he was in, Stiles thought all the ways he could potentially die in the time it took his pack to came and rescue him.

“Don't go to sleep... don't go to sleep... don't...”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewrites kept making this story longer, so this chapter was broken up into two parts.

The carnival seemed much less entertaining after Stiles' abrupt and seemingly over dramatic exit. Despite the best efforts of everyone, carrying on with their evening and having fun wasn't happening. Scott wouldn't stop sulking over his best-friend taking off and Lydia's mood had turn fowl. It made for an effective buzz kill.

Scott pouted at his phone like he was patiently waiting for a call that wasn't coming. The little phone lay silent in his hand, screen only lighting up when Scott unlocked it to see if there was some sort of glitch that kept him from being informed of his texts. But no, nothing. No word from Stiles. He sighed from a mix of frustration and worry, turning to look at his pack like they could fix this. However, instead of reassuring smiles or any form of positivity, they all shared his own down turned expression.

Although there was Jackson. He didn't care, obviously. He stood with his arms crossed, doing his best to ignore everyone's sudden disinterest in the attractions around them. This really simply boiled down to the fact Lydia wasn't giving him her undivided attention. Her focus was fixed into a steady glare directed at Derek ever since they left the ferris wheel. Cora too shared a similar look, repeatedly eyeing her brother suspiciously.

Scott picked up on everyone tension and the passing glances at Derek. It was like they all knew something he didn't, which really rubbed him the wrong way. Tired of the secrecy, he too turned to the other alpha who stood quietly off to one side of their group, ever neutral with his squared off shoulders and emotionless wandering eyes. Non of this was out of the ordinary for Derek but something was still off. The hairs on his neck prickled from stress. Scott pocketed his phone and stepped over to the lone wolf.

“Derek, we should go check on Stiles,” he said, serious and a little urgent.

“Then go ahead,” Derek said just to acknowledge him. It didn't fly though.

Scott set his jaw firmly before insisting. “No. You're coming with me. Whatever got into him back there... I know you know about it. You know what I'm talking about. If you said or did _anything_ to him-”

“What make you think I did something?” Derek interrupted defensively. Muscles pulled rigid and defined, his demeanour turned stubborn and defiant. He stood tall and bared his teeth at his alpha. It was a blatant challenge, one that did not go disregarded. Scott let his eyes bleed red and flashed his sharpening canines. A deep, dominant growl was threatening to rumble up from his chest, but they were in a public space. There would be too many witnesses to their inevitable fight. Scott knew this and stepped back, being the better man with more self control over his own anger.

He looked at the other, knowing that they were thinking the same thing as he just did. With a lighter, pointedly accusation, Scott said, “Because any time something is wrong with Stiles, you're some how always involved. So, if you're going to be a total dick, fine. Stay, if you want. I'll go find Stiles myself.”

“What's to find, Scott? He just went home,” Derek said, possibly trying to not sound like he cared too much about Stiles' whereabouts. Except, he did care, a lot. Scott's fervent concern was just making it worse.

Derek had always and would always be overly protective of his pack, no matter which member it was and for whatever reason be it physical danger or simple emotional distress. He considered them all close family, even if he didn't show it. Stiles though, was always different. He'd been different from the start. Obviously, in the very beginning Derek had just thought of both Stiles and Scott like two stupid kids who didn't know what they were doing, and that their stupidity would get them eventually killed. And, for the most part he'd been right, having to rescue their sorry asses repeatedly. But after awhile, they proved to be resourceful and worthy of their own pack. And Derek became attached. Especially to Stiles. He was no longer a younger brother figure but something else.

It had been a slow burn in Derek's core, continuously warming him every time Stiles entered the room, or if he caught a hint of the teen's scent. It lingered for hours after Stiles had disappeared from sight. Even now, after all this time, that spark inside him never swindled low enough for Derek to not crave Stiles' presence. He felt wanted being around the loud, overly eager boy, and wanted to that always. On some level Derek knew it was mutual. Stiles was always watching him. The boy always smelt like tart arousal, rolling off Stiles during inappropriate situations that always ended up being a distraction for Derek.

Oddly, what finally got Derek to admit to himself that he wanted Stiles was how he kept inexplicably getting touched when they were together. No one ever touched him, unless during training or Scott's annoying need to drag the others into play-fighting. But casual touches were something Derek just didn't do. Stiles though, didn't listen to that rule and no matter how often he was glared down and threatened with physical violence, he kept doing it. Stiles always found some reason to playfully smack his back or punch his arm, or a comforting, lingering palm resting on his shoulder. It always left Derek tingling all over. He wanted more, more small seemingly insignificant touches and strokes of skin on skin.

It reminded Derek of a time when he was very young. He'd roll his eyes and make a grossed out expression over his parents doing the same thing. Their constant need to be close to one another, sharing fleeting touched whenever able. Their excessively tactile and loving relationship, as he'd been told so often growing up, was just how mates reacted to the other. Mates always wanted and yearned to be close. Sure, as a child, he found that gross. However, he got older. Then met Paige. Then Kate. Childhood disgust quickly became deep rooted bitterness toward the idea of mates and love.

Then Stiles touched him with a genuinely warm hand, and Derek knew what having a real mate was like.

He didn't act on it, simply brushed off the idea while around their pack.

It was easier to watch from a far, standing under Stiles; window at three in the morning when he couldn't sleep, and allow whatever brush of skin that passed between them, occasionally offering his own no so accidental touch.

Everything fell apart when Stiles stayed behind after that damned pack meeting to help clean up. His dad had been working a late shift that night and he had no where else to be besides returning to an empty house, so Stiles wanted to stay a little longer. They cleaned, moved the couch back to its usual position around the coffee table. They talked a bit. Then, and he still wasn't sure how it started, there was some grabbing and an abrupt, very passionate kiss. There was a lot of skin touching. Then things went much farther than it probably should have.

Derek cringed. Hating himself for his absolute lack of self control. He regretted his actions only for the sake of Stiles, doubting he'd be accepting of or capable as a human to understand what it meant to be a werewolf's mate. So, Derek did what he does best and distanced himself the best he could.

It had been a very hard week, going without Stiles. The burning in his core turned to a nagging pain. The need to go be with Stiles would eat him a live if left alone. Then his sister dragged him out tonight.

Now, he was painfully aware that Stiles, his mate, was upset and hurting because of his stupidity and stubbornness. So, yes, to correct Scott, he cared. And it tore him apart inside that he was being looked at so dismissively, suggesting that he didn't think Stiles was worth it. Stiles was actually worth everything. Derek pushed passed Scott in a defiant manner.

“I'll prove it to you. Go,” he barked.

Scott postured up, but didn't look anywhere near as intimidated. “We'll let you guys know...” He trailed off looking back to their pack. Without waiting for a response, the two stalked through the crowd sharing quick, little glance at one another. Much in the same way alpha males show off and peacock their dominance as a right to lead, they glared each other down over the right to protect Stiles. Scott feeling it his duty as leader and the best friend. Derek, as unestablished mate.

It was a good thing they quickly left the fairgrounds, less their posturing start an all out fight. Also because it was quiet out on the street and more refreshing. Their senses were no longer being bombarded by the overpowering scents and constant noise of the carnival. Anger dulled, Scott said something about here Stiles had parked the jeep and was heading in that direction. Derek grunted in response but said nothing back.

He didn't need to be lead once he caught the familiar crisp sent of Stiles body wash, overlaying the boy's natural smell. However there was something immediately off about it the closer they got. There was a tang of sweat laced with sharp metallic. His eyes widened before he frowned in anger. Realizing what the smell was and where it was from, Derek took off down the sidewalk leaving Scott to yell and catch up on his own. It only took a few long strides to find the source of the smell. Derek skidded in the dirt, lunging forward onto all fours. He ignored how the concrete grated on his knees through his jeans.

Sharpening nails plucked a set of keys out of the grass, the plastic and metal clicked together. Around his fingers. Derek could feel his blood boil. Not far up ahead the jeep was untouched, on full displace for whoever recognized it. The edges of the keys and chains pressed deep into his palm as he made a fist around them. Stiles was gone.

What was left of the mixed scent of sweat and fear was being quickly caught up on the light summer breeze. Derek inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring wide to take in everything he could in one breath. Cotton candy sugar, adrenaline, and blood.

A deep, violent snarl left him. His sharp nails clicked against the concrete as he made his way along. Even with the darkness, Derek found a small patch of dried blood. It was Stiles'. There was no mistaking it. Derek had smelt that sweet, yet tart blood too many times before to not know. Panic rose in his chest. His instincts demanded he turn full wolf and hunt for his mate no matter how far it took him.

“Oh shit...” Scott only broke his attention enough to keep him from tearing his clothes off in favour of fur. He came up beside him, squatting down to where Derek knelt on his hands and knees. There was something in his hands that made Derek turn away from the dark red stain on the sidewalk. “He's.... Derek-”

Cradled in Scott's hands like some fragile treasure were Stiles' worn down sneakers. For whatever reason that they were doing there, either some how lost or if he was relieved of them. His gut twisted.

“Get a grip!” Derek twitched and breathed in a lung full, growling low after. “He was hurt... then moved that way. I can smell them still.”

Scott did the same, taking in a long breath to find the scent trail Derek had picked up on. “Can we track them on foot?” he asked, not feeling hopeful.

“No, it's an old smell... but they weren't subtle when they took him.” Derek fidgeted. Slowly, as if moving to fast would stir the air around them, he got to his feet. He stepped passed Scott, moving in a wide arc to follow the scent. “There was a vehicle parked here... It was leaking... then, gone.”

“We got the jeep...or your camaro. We can follow them,” Scott blurted out, passed panicked and slipping into anger. He was already grabbing for his phone to call the others in to help.

“Seriously?” Derek looked at him sharply. “A scent that's an hour old. You think we can follow that?”

“Like you said, they weren't subtle.”

“So, you think they want to be found?”

“I don't fucking know, Derek. I'm taking a shot here!”

Derek growled low in his chest. He said nothing as Scott called the others to fill them in on what they found and what they could only assume happened to Stiles. As far as Derek was concerned, pack or no pack, Stiles was his sole responsibility. He would find him. He would tear apart whoever was stupid enough to hurt his mate. Then, he'd bring Stiles home to care for and protect. Derek's fingers flexed around the keys embedding themselves into his palm. He grunted and stalked over toward the parked jeep.

“Hey, wait for me,” Scott yelled at him and jogged up to the passenger side of the old vehicle.

“You should wait for the others to get here. I can go on ahead.”

“He'd my best-friend. I know his scent better than anyone. I can find him anywhere, no matter how far.”

“He's my-” Derek's grip on the jeep was threatening to bend the frame and damage the old girl. Thankfully, he reeled himself in long enough to unlock the door and climb into the seat without breaking anything. The smell of Stiles surrounded him in a warm, familiar cloud. It set him at ease instantly. Everything was coated in the soft lingering sent of hair paste, the bitter tones of stale coffee, and the citrus air freshener that did nothing for the small space. Derek ran his thumb over the steering wheel and swallowed the thick knot in his throat.

It was like their time apart had made Derek hyper aware of Stiles' sent. All night he'd been able to find it amidst the burning oil smell of the food stands and heavy body odor. He'd been able to hear that uneven, occasionally frantic heart beat, even over the loud music and drone of passing conversation. Yet, he couldn't allow himself to reach out and take his hand. He'd been too afraid. Afraid of getting attached to someone again. Now, Stiles was gone.

“Your what?” Scott interrupted his thoughts.

“Never mind. Get in.” Still, Derek couldn't say it out loud, no matter confident he was admitting it to himself. Stiles was and would always be his mate, whether or not it was returned in kind. If necessary, Derek would spend the rest of his days protecting the idiot from around corners and watching from windows, all to be close and reassured of Stiles' well being and happiness.

It barely took the jeep pulling away from the curb before Scott grew more frustrated and worried. He cranked the window down, leaning out into the night air immediately. He fidgeted and scanned over everything they passed hoping Stiles would come bounding out from someone's backyard. But he wasn't some lost kid who wandered off, Stiles' had been kidnapped. There was no way they'd find him anywhere in town. That seemed too obvious, even if someone was trying to get their attention. And it was clear Derek had that idea too, or he was better at tracking a lost scent than Scott thought. They quickly left the surrounding neighbourhood and made their way toward the highway exit.

Scott looked over to Derek in the driver's seat. The guy had a white knuckled grip on the wheel, yet not tight enough to damage the thing. He was ridged and alert, nostrils flaring at the wind, and his brow twitched into a frown of intense concentration. It was a look Scott had only ever seen on his face a few times, and only in life or death situations. They took a sharp turn onto the highway before Scott fully realized Derek was half shifted already. For a moment his lips peeled back to accommodate growing canines. It looked like Derek would, at a moments notice, jump out the moving vehicle in favour of running along the highway on foot.

Scott growled low and made Derek's pointed ear twitch. “He's 'your' what, Derek?” He asked, annoyed over the fact he was being left in the dark about this too. Something was going on behind all their backs and he needed to know, as their alpha and as Stiles' best-friend. “You know what's going on with Stiles, don't you? Tell me.”

“You really want to talk about this now?” Derek snapped, for some reason taking offence. He should tell Scott. It was only right to discuss mate related affairs with one's alpha. But it was Stiles, and Scott would always be touchy about that. There was no way he'd ever have his blessing to stake a claim. “It's not important right now. Let's just focus on finding him.”

“No, tell me.” Scott's voice dropped to a pitch of seriousness and authority. It earned a challenging snarl back in response but the alpha wasn't backing down. Scott turned in his seat to watch Derek shift uncomfortably around in the seat while driving. Something in the way he was tracking the scent was an obvious out of place talent. Sure, they both could find some weird scents but this was over a solid distance with some major gaps in clues. Only once during the drive so far had Scott even caught the slightest tangy of blood on the wind.

Derek flexed his clawed fingers and took a long breath. “Scott, not now-”

“Tell. Me.” Scott sunk his nailed into the old seat. His eyes flashed their bright red.

“He's my-we... We...uh...” Derek was five seconds away from tucking and rolling out of the moving jeep and into traffic. “We're not...”

“He told you...didn't he?” Scott leant back, calmer but no less worried.

“Told me what? No, he didn't say anything to me. Last week, he stayed behind... He didn't want to go home yet. And we didn't talk-” because they didn't. They ended up manhandling each other onto every solid surface of the loft, leaving their mixed sweat, cum and saliva all over the place.

Scott stared at him a long moment before choking out, “you're sleeping with Stiles!”

“It was the one night!”

“Fuck! Now I get why he's been so upset! Derek, you can't just do that to him!”

“Scott, will you shut up? It's not what you think.”

“That you slept with my best friend, and then ditched him? Because, yeah, that's what I'm thinking here.”

Derek didn't have a reply to that, because that is actually what he did, meaning to or not. He clenched his jaw tightly, as Scott snapped at him for how sensitive Stiles could be and how he must have felt. However, Derek knew all this already. He could smell the sour misery coming of Stiles all night. Then the tart anger before he left. Derek knew he fucked up. But at the very least, he could make sure Stiles got home where he belonged tonight. His nose twitched and Derek suddenly slammed on the breaks, causing the jeep to swerve off onto the shoulder of the road. The tired squealed and spun on the gravel.

Without warning, Derek was out of the jeep, shirt and shoes being tossed into the back before he took off into the tree line along the side of the highway, moving at a full sprint. There was a scent trail on the wind that he could not lose.

 

 

 

Was he dead? Stiles felt dead. He'd been staring into oblivion so long that he couldn't tell if he'd passed out or if he were still awake. The throbbing of his body was turning dull and cold. He shivered. The mud churned under him as he shifted his weight from one side to the other. The brick still scraped over his bare arms, but even that felt like a cold tickle against his skin. How much blood had he lost or was being cut off through out his body? He couldn't tell anymore.

Everyone once in a while very loud boots would stomp over head, the hunters hurrying around for some unknown reason. Stiles could only guess what they were preparing for, or rather, who. He told himself Scott was on his way to rescue him. It wasn't a maybe or a probably, Stiles knew Scott would show up any minute now. And he'd be running head long into a world of trouble. Gun, knives, wolfs bane, whatever else these discount hunters had planned for them all.

Knowing Scott too, he was going to try and run right through the front door and into whatever trap set up for him. Stiles swore over the idea, biting down on his lip lightly. The gentle pinch of skin helped to wake up his system, which kept wanting to drift into unconsciousness. It didn't hurt exactly, but was enough to remind him to stay awake. Over head came a loud crash, followed by something heavy skirting across the wood floor. It made Stiles jump out of surprise.

“You idiot!” Came a muffled voice through the floor. It hadn't been the first time Stiles heard the hunters talking back and forth, but it was clearer than anything else he'd overheard. There was another softer reply that he couldn't quite understand, but he could still make out the foot steps and gathering up of whatever fell.

“Just be ready for when those animals show up! Fuck! You're useless!”

Stiles froze. That didn't sound good to him. Even though he couldn't quite hear the whole conversation going on, he tilted his head to listen. He held his breathing in the hopes it would help in some way. The conversation continued upstairs for some time before Stile could actually heard anything else coherent. There were the odd words spat out in anger: _wolf_ which he assumed meant the pack, _bitch_ which was probably in reference to himself, and something about their boss who still remained nameless as of yet.

“I'm not going out there with a feral werewolf on the loose!”

“Just don't miss your shot!” one of the hunters yelled. “We don't have many of these darts!”

Stiles looked up toward the ceiling, ignoring how it strained and hurt his neck to do so. Some more yelling ensued between the people upstairs, which he now knew were at least three thanks to the amount of feet walking around over head. His attention though was stuck on 'darts'. They were planning on shooting Scott? But Scott wasn't feral. Or was there someone else they were trying to lure out?

He didn't know, and the more Stiles thought about the different possibilities and outcomes, his head started to hurt more. A warm sluggish pump of blood shot up through his temple from all his moving about. It was dizzying and Stiles almost folded in half from the rush. His breathing came heavier again.

He legitimately believe he might die there alone in the dark.

 

 

 

The thick trees whipped passed, ignored and unimportant as Derek dove through the dense woods. He smelt Stiles on the air, that sharp metallic of blood and fear muddled by musk. It wasn't far off. Stiles was somewhere close by. Dirt was turned and kicked up, bark from downed tree branches was peeled back when in the way. Derek's claws dug into the ground as he ran on all fours. He wasn't gaining enough speed on two legs.

The scent grew stronger as Derek broken out into a wide overgrown yard. Off behind him he could hear Scott's howl calling to him but that didn't stop him from moving on. The grass was flattened under him as he kept running, searching for his mate in a blind need. He almost reached the farmhouse just on the edge of a full wolf shift before he was finally stopped. Not by Scott, or by the sight of Stiles, but by the tranquilizer dart that came out of no where, sinking deep into his shoulder. He stumbled. The sharp pinch to his muscle felt like nothing to him in his frenzy, but the leak of poison left a hot burn as it was taken into his blood stream. His joins gave out on him. Derek panted, snarled between thick teeth and spat at the dirt.

Whatever toxins held in the dart quickly spread into his body leaving him woozy and tense all at once. Muscles seized as adrenaline shot up his spine. Despite his body's primary reaction to fight off the poison, he started to blink back white spots. His claws lengthened, scratched and dug into the grass. He shook his head trying to regain control of himself, but he couldn't. Everything was spinning and too loud. Voices leaked passed the buzzing in his ears, a floor boards from inside creaked, and there were suddenly too many heart beats to focus on at once. But one was distinctly more sluggish over the others. It ignited his instincts, singling that one heart beat out as the prey, the weak and vulnerable. He became wound up and uncontrollably angry, wanting to hunt, to sink his teeth into his prey and tear them apart piece by piece.

Red clouded his vision and Derek lost all control he had over his shift. As if his body was forcing it upon him, thick fur bristled up his back as bones popped and cracked back into place, forming his canine shape. He growled and snapped his teeth. His tongue snuck out to taste the air. Common sense and logic wasn't a thing here. The wolf didn't think of what was human or animal. They were all prey.

More wolf than man, Derek's keen senses were drawn to any movement around him, the sounds stirring in his ears, and his own desire to go after that one weak heart beat. A figure moved in the darkness, grabbing his attention immediately. The figure was being cautious, sliding along the outside wall of the farm house as if it couldn't be seen in the darkness. Derek lowered himself into the grass, rearing back to pounce.

The figure unlocked the cellar and let threw its doors open. Once done, the man attempted a mad dash to retreat back into the farm house. The sudden motion was taken as a challenge to chase by the wolf. And while the man was fast, Derek was faster. In a heart beat he covered twice the distance the human could and lunged forward, claws outstretched for the attack.

Skin snagged under sharp nails and ripped back with each swipe. The hunter gave a bubbling, strangled choke that went unheeded as his throat was slice open from long and deep scratches. Blood ran thickly out of each slit, spilling over the hunter and Derek's paws. The grass under them was splattered and made wet. Their bodied fell and struggled a little, Derek snapping his jaws around a flailing limb. Luckily for the hunter, he was long dead before the wolf started to gnaw and pull on the arm. Fabric tore to shreds and teeth bit deep enough to grate human bone.

Chunks of bicep fell away landing in the grass and dirt, while smaller pieces remained hanging off the arm. The wolf unlocked his jaw from the useless appendage before giving the dead body a sniff, snout pressing into the still warm chest. He huffed, satisfied by the smell of blood and dead flesh.

Off in the distance came a loud, commanding howl. Derek lifted his head to the sky, letting out a return call. It signalled his location and his pride of first kill.

Derek moved away from the dead body, padding over to the open cellar door. From inside came a pained whimper, barely coherent but still there. Not even the continued howl of his alpha could keep his attention off the injured prey below. He growled out a low warning, ears flattening against his fur. The light whimper answered back, small and broken. The board hardly made a sound as the large wolf crept into the cellar, stalking his next kill.

 

 

Stiles heard the lock come undone and the door swing open wide. Light filtered in through the now unblocked frame. He blinked, finding it almost too bright, despite how dim it truly was. The hunter didn't come down the stairs as expected, and Stiles sat quietly, staring at the few short steps, waiting for someone to come down them. But no one did. Instead there was a scream which was quickly turned into a gurgle before being ended. Then there was howling. They were definitely wolves, not just dogs. Relief washed over Stiles. His pack was there. Scott was coming to get him.

Stiles whined and tried to sit up, lifting his injured head from the wall. He didn't care how they found him or what happened to that hunter. He was getting out of there. That was until he was greeted by a predatory, wet snarl. It didn't sound right to him. Stiles curled his legs under himself, unable to help the fearful sweat breaking out over his skin.

Down the rickety stairs crept a large, brown-black wolf, eyes shining a blood thirsty red. He had to know Stiles was alone. A wolf would be able to hear more than his own sporadic breathing. So why was Derek treating him like a threat? The wolf stalked through the mud, lowering himself to jump. He was watching Stiles carefully, eyes never moving off him. Stiles felt like a trapped, injured rabbit about to be eaten. And from the drool gathering on those blood soaked gums, Derek looked hungry.

His breath hitch in his throat. “Der... hey, Der, it's me,” Stiles urged, actually scared of what Derek would do to him like this. The guy seemed completely wolfed out of his mind. Those red eyes, still glowing from the moon light entering from the cellar door held no humanity in them, only animistic desires. Stiles wanted to sink back but there was no room to. The wolf let out a long, deep growl, like a warning.

“Derek, please. Come on. It's me.” Stiles couldn't stop himself from mewling pathetically. He slid against the wall to the floor, unable to hold himself up.

Everything he knew about werewolves, and alphas especially, quickly cycled through his brain. It was all theory of course because he never had to actually appease an angry, mid hunt, wolf before. So, heart pounding in his chest and sweat drenched, Stiles tried his best to lower himself to the ground without hurting himself any more than he already way. He kept an eye on how Derek approached, but did not make direct eye contact. He tried not to look afraid, tried to show submission. But Stile still shook uncontrollably as he fell onto his side, shoulder planting into the mud.

“Derek, please... Derek,” he muttered and begged softly, hoping that somehow the human part of Derek would hear. Because that part would never hurt Stiles, he knew it. “I don't know what they did to you, but please, stop. You don't want to kill me... Do you? Maybe you do...”

The wolf came close, snout pushing at Stiles until he was flat on his back. He sniffed and snorted at the mixture of scents from sweat, to vomit, to blood. Derek barked in his ear which made Stiles jump and want to push himself away, but he willed himself to lay still and bare his neck. It didn't escape his mind how this position left him vulnerable to have all his squishy human organs ripped from his belly if Derek so felt the desire. The nose of the wolf nudged him in the chest and Stiles held his breath as he was sniffed at. The curious nose travelled down to Stiles' exposed stomach from where his shirt rode up, then back up to his curved neck. He hoped that it was only dropping dripping over him and thickly sliding over his cheek bone.

Above them, deep inside the house came Scott's angered growl. It as followed by another wolf. Then a pained human scream. There were heavy foot steps slapping over the decrepit wood flooring. Stiles moved slowly, wanting to yell for help, to do something. But he had a feral, snarling werewolf inched from his face ready to take bite out of him. The wolf didn't respond to the call of his pack either.

The twisting of his body made the plastic zip ties around his wrists cut deeper into his skin. It stung and throbbed, working at the raw flesh until it lazily beaded with blood. Stiles knew it was bleeding because Derek's attention was drawn away from his face, thankfully. He'd take a light bleeding over having his head chewed off.

The wet nose poked lightly at Stiles' torso, inspecting him over to find his injury. Stiles gave a knee jerk reaction to the touches and twitched. It was too fast of a movement and the wolf reeled back, snapping his jaw in Stiles' face. More drool spat at him. He gasped, about ready to start hyperventilating.

The heavy wolf moved, boxing him with a paw by each shoulders. Stiles looked up, unable to avoid eye contact with the animal any longer.

“Fuck... S-scott-” What was suppose to be a desperate whine for help only earned him a suddenly enraged bark. Stiles doubted that Derek recognized Scott's name in this state, but something about it set him off. He flinched and turned his face completely away.

Without warning, the jaws of the alpha opened wide and Derek dove down, latching onto Stiles' tender and bruised shoulder. The sharp teeth punctured skin effortlessly, sinking deep into the muscle underneath. The hold didn't tear or rip. He was just held in place as blood pooled in the wolf's mouth, tasting coppery and slick. Stiles didn't have a choice but to accept the pain. He gripped at Derek's fur tightly. He tried to scream but it broke off almost immediately. The rush of blood leaving him left his head swimming in a weightless ocean. Stiles blacked out cold within second.

Derek pulled back from the bite, tongue flicking out to sooth the red skin with soft licks.

 

 

 

It was then that Scott leaped down the stairs to stand ankle deep in the mud. He snarled low, back stiffening ready to attack his own pack member. The scene in front of him did not stop him from making advancing, only cautioned him, because across the small cellar space was Derek, large frame crouching over an unconscious Stiles. His fur was covered in blood, not all of it belonging to the hunters. The wolf was taking a territorial stance, as if Derek was guarding his kill or his property.

Scott was not about to take kindly to this. Apart from the fact that Stiles had been previously hurt, Derek was now threatening the safety of his best friend. He lowered back on his heels, ready to jump forward for Derek who was too far gone to be reasoned with.

His snarl, which was meant to be a warning, was being taken as a straight up challenge. Scott watched Derek move over Stiles' body to block and protect him.

“Derek, get away from him,” Scott said around his mouthful of sharp teeth. He snapped his teeth, asserting dominance as alpha as a way of ordering Derek to back down from a potential fight. However, it was completely ignored. The wolf answered him with his own wet snarl, unaffected by the command.

Without much more warning, ears flat against his fur, he charged at Scott, leaving Stiles safety behind.

Their bodies collided in a violent clash of claws and teeth. Fervent snarls spat nonverbal threats as they snapped and clawed at each other. Neither alpha wanted the other to gain possession of what Derek had claimed to be his. Also, Scott did not what to hurt Derek like this. However, blood was shed, dripping heavily over the mud. Scott caught a fistful of Derek's fur and threw him to one side of the room.

He spared a glance over to Stiles. His friend was still out cold and bleeding from the shoulder. It was a shock to see. “Derek...” Scott breathed, almost speechless. “You bit him!” The accusation hung in the air, leaving the alpha stunned. This was never suppose to happen. Stiles was human. He wanted to remain human. If Stiles didn't die from his injuries there was a high chance of the bite killing him long before he ever turned into a wolf. Scott's claws throbbed, knuckle popping with pent up tension. He wanting blood for the sake of his best friend's life.

Scott jumped forward towards Derek, blindly sinking his nails into the wolf's pelt. He bit and slashed at the fur with reckless abandon. The concept of pack and family completely forgotten as the two rolled on the floor. Derek was not pack. Derek was a danger to them all. Scott heard the familiar call of the others. Somewhere off behind him he vaguely heard Isaac mixed with Boyd's bass growl. They both went ignored.

The two joins the fray to back up their alpha, like Derek was some rogue and not their friend too.

Three on one didn't pose as a fair fight. And despite how much of a fight Derek could keep up on his own, he was over powered and restrained. The full wolf lay on his side, being held down by all three. Scott sighed, out of breath from the whole ordeal and as much as he wanted to go to Stiles, he feared of letting go with Derek still kicking under him.

“What's wrong with him?” Isaac shouted. The claw marks on his cheek knitting itself back together slowly. The blood that had been leaking out stopped, just left on his skin to dry.

“I don't know. He took off a head to track Stiles and, something happened.” Scott used his upper body strength to hold Derek's head still. “He'd going to be pissed about this but... Boyd, knock him out. Take him to Deaton. Maybe he can make sense of whatever the hell has gotten into Derek... I need to get Stiles to the hospital.”

“That's your plan?” Isaac gave him a judgmental look over his shoulder. Scott wasn't impressed by it, but there was no time to argue.

“Boyd?”

“Yup,” Boyd let Scott move back before giving Derek a swift punch in the head. The wolf whined pathetically as his eyes closed, body going limp. Boyd definitely didn't feel good about what he just did. His face grimaced, concerned. He wouldn't be leaving Derek any time soon.

Scott, while he did care about Derek, he knew the wolf would get help and heal. Stiles on the other hand didn't heal like them and may not live through the night this way. At the moment, his attention was focused on his friend's injuries and the bite left on his shoulder, nothing else. He rushed over to Stiles and carefully reached for him. The bite mark was still bleeding, but nothing was turning black or looked infected yet. As far as he could assume, it was a good sign.

Scott adjusted Stiles, looking for any more injuries. He held back a furious roar seeing the laceration on his head, the bloodied wrists, as well as the other smaller cuts and bruises. Carefully he used his nail to break the zip ties around Stiles' wrists and lifted him up out of the mud. The way Stiles' body lifelessly hung in his grip was heart breaking. Scott choked back a cry, tears wanting to roll down his face in streams.

Scott carried him out of the cellar. Stiles was barely breathing and still unconscious. He didn't respond to touch or sound. Scott touched the skin of his arm as they walked back to the cars. Quickly his veins ran black, sucking in Stiles' pain, hoping the relief would bring him back to them. The sharp tingle travelling through his hand made Scott wish he killed the hunters. Instead, the ones in the house got away. Derek had already left the one dead tonight. That would have to count for something, for now.

Whatever they were after or trying to accomplish didn't matter. By taking Stiles, they really struck a nerve, one the was deeply personal. And if Stiles died, Scott swore he would personally hunt down every last one involved in what happened tonight and kill them one by one.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably would have been posted a week or so ago, but I rewrote this twice...

Stiles wondered why heaven looked like a hospital room. He was sure that it was heaven. Everything was too bright to be natural. It was so clean and white. The soft lights, the monotonous heart rate monitor, the less than comfortable bed. Heaven was a hospital. Maybe ones afterlife manifested as a familiar setting when you died, something his mind could make up to make death less jarring. Stiles ran a hand over the excessively starched covers of the hospital bed. This place shouldn't feel like a second home to him like it did. He let out a content sigh.

Thankfully, he didn't have to dwell on all this for too long. While he remembers occasionally waking to that small room, Stiles would always drift right back off to sleep again as his ears hummed with the occasional hushed conversation of angels and the whirl of the machinery.

Stiles dreamt of Scott visiting him in his strange version of heaven. It felt almost real, like the guy was sitting right by the bed next to him. That worried face would snap to a large grin when their eyes met. He'd lean over the bed toward him and talk nonsense at Stiles. The words fell on deaf ears anyway. Stiles was too tired to fully understand what was going on. But even with all that, he was grateful for the familiar face and the warm hand over his own. It made being dead feel so much easier to handle. The angel would sit beside him until he fell asleep again.

In the back of his mind, Stiles reminded himself that Scott was alive, and that it was crazy to think he'd really be there with him. His heaven must want all his loved ones to be there now, alive or dead. He smiled in his sleep, brushing it off. It was just a comfort to not be alone.

Some times when he woke up, his dad was there. The older man would always come right up close to him with a sad yet relieved smile. He'd lean down and place a kiss to his forehead. It was nice to have his dad there. Although he wanted to ask, that if this was his heaven, where was his mom. She should be there as well. He missed her warm kissed and tight hugs. Stiles' eyes closed again, thinking that maybe when they opened next time, she'd be there smiling at him too.

Nothing like that happened though. After a while, somewhere between over tiredness and his blurred moments of awake, Stiles remember being moved from his familiar little room. He didn't protest as he was helped out of bed, carefully dressed and put into a wheelchair. The angels, or whatever these figments of his imagination were, were very gentle. He rested his head to one side, content to keep his eyes closed and let them carry him off to where ever it was that they were going.

 

 

When Stiles finally woke up again, he had to shield himself from the light. It was too bright, even from behind his eyelids. He took a long breath in through his nose before letting it out with a low groan. He moved wanting to shrink away from the brightness. Stiles went to cover his face. Then a stray hand abruptly punched him in the cheekbone and he jumped, eyes flying open to see who hit him. Heart beating loudly in his ears he looked around.

He was alone in bed. The hospital lighting was gone, replaced by natural early morning sunshine. There were no machines that made any noise. The bed was much softer too and didn't smell like chemically bleached sheets. In fact everything smelt familiar, like home. He was home. This was his bed. His real bed. The realization was slow until Stiles let himself wake up fully, blinking back the sleep left from his eyes. Next to him on the pillow was his own left hand, awkwardly twisted to the point that it was asleep and had no feeling.

It was all a dream. Stiles groaned and turned his face into his own pillow, halfway ready to chase after the comfortable embrace of sleep. It was a shame he had to open his eyes now. It was early morning. His dad probably left a list of chore for him down stairs. As much fun as mowing the lawn would be, laundry and even dusting was, he much rather go back to sleep. He moved a little, feeling his fingers start to tingle back to life.

Stiles stretched his legs out under the covers. The muscles in his legs cramped the muscles in his legs cramped and ached from lack of use. There was a pain in his hip and the soles of his feet felt tender and raw. He took this as further proof that he was indeed alive – he guessed. It was always nice to wake up and find out you're not actually dead. It had just been a dream after all. His head kind of hurt but it was only a small pain that didn't effect him much. And as Stiles sat up slowly, cracking his stiff neck, the small pain started to fade away like it was never even there.

Stiles absentmindedly rubbed at his pale wrist and the thin plastic hospital bracelet that was loosely wrapped around it. His breath caught in his throat. The feeling of dread washed over him, settling into the pit of his stomach like lead. He couldn't remember everything. Parts of his memory felt foggy and weird. But right then, all Stiles could really piece together was that he was alive. He didn't hurt as he felt like he should. Nothing felt quite like he expected it to. He felt surprisingly well rested, which was great after what he could remember of being tossed around like a sack of potatoes. Maybe his body was still hopping up on strong pain killers curtsy of the lovely hospital staff. It was the only reasonable explanation he could come up with for feeling so normal after having the crap beat out of him. You don't walk away from that kind of thing with minimal bruising.

He tried not to think about what could be wrong with him, what the slight itch was spreading under his skin like a bug bite. Thinking about it would only make it worse. A shower was what he needed now, that and some breakfast. Probably a change of clothed too. Even though he was comfy in his soft and worn out t-shirt and thin sweatpants.

Stiles let out a long yawn. He blinked his eyes to adjust to the bright light spilling in through the open curtains. It looked like a lovely day outside. How long had he been asleep for? Where was everyone else? He really wished he could remember more about what happened. A part of him was just waiting for some big cruel twist of fate, like he'd throw the covers back and would be missing a foot or something equally as dramatic. But when he did toss the covers back and swing his legs over the side of the bed, his body was all intact with nothing broken or too badly beaten.

He still took it slow, standing up and taking a few awkward steps across the room. Each step was shaky and he had to grab onto the the dresser in order to stay on his feet. Still not the worse thing to ever happen to him. Even though it felt like he was walking across glass, nothing was in his skin. The souls of his feet just looked red and mildly swollen. He assumed they were healing quickly from what injuries they received and his overall struggle was due to the bedridden state of his joints and muscles. It was fine. It just took him a little longer to hobble his way down the hall toward the stairs, as well as make it down said stairs without falling. No big deal. Easy mode.

When he reached the last step, Stiles paused, a hand still on the railing. It immediately became clear why the house was so quiet. In the room across the hall, through the wide door frame, he could see three werewolves asleep on the living room couch: Scott on one end, Isaac snuggled up against him, then Liam on the end with his head thrown back to snore openly. The three took up the whole couch. One of the thin knit throw blankets was tossed hazardously over their laps. It was really weird to see because the werewolf sleepovers normally happened at the loft where his dad didn't have to deal with all the crazy supernatural stuff. With Stiles being hurt though, they must have been given permission to stay awhile.

Stiles let them stay snuggled together in their little puppy pile. He tried to be quiet as he made his way to the kitchen. That part of the house was empty for him. The morning sun was spilling in through the windows, leaving the small kitchen in a warm glow. It was comforting and bright.

Stiles took a glass from the cupboard and filled it at the sink. He stood, silently looking out the window into the backyard. The window was partially cracked. The breeze picked up the scent of crisp grass and flowers. It was a surprisingly intense smell, one Stiles wasn't quite use to. He let the thought go, passing it off as the result of morning dew that hadn't yet dried up. Stiles hummed a little and took a deep breath of the fresh air. It was still nice.

The peaceful beauty of the morning was finally interrupted by Scott barrelling into the kitchen. The other two followed behind, fighting over each other to make it through the small door first. However they stayed to the back, letting Scott approach. The guy looked absolutely panicked, face stark white. It would have been worrisome if his hair wasn't sticking out at all angles, and he still looked half asleep. For a second Scott's mouth hung open, eyes wide and awestruck like Stiles standing in the middle of the kitchen was some kind of magic trick. It made Stiles frown.

“Stiles, you're up,” he said sounding pleasantly optimistic. He stepped across the tiles, bare feet padding softly as he went.

Stiles nodded and finally got to down his glass of water. “Yeah, I was thirsty,” he replied like none of this was a big deal.

“How are you feeling?”

“Actually, pretty okay. I'm kind of surprised nothing's broken. Not that I'm complaining. That'd suck - to have a cast. But you know... I'm fine.”

Scott stared at him a long moment which was getting kind of creepy and disconcerting. It made Stiles skin want to crawl worse than it had been earlier. “What?”

“What's the last thing you remember before you passed out?” Scott asked him cautiously.

“Passed out? When? I've been off and on sleeping for... a while. How long was I sleeping for anyway?” Stiles set his glass aside, afraid something would happen and he'd drop it. “Dude, you planning on telling me what's going on in that head of yours, or are you just going to keep staring at me like that?”

“You were really out of it for a few days. Mom said that would probably be normal after your concussion and with the bruising and the blood loss... We had to wake you up every few hours just to make sure you weren't gonna go into a coma or something. It was freaky. Like, really...freaky.”

Stiles huffed on a dry laugh. He felt almost relieved being told that. “That's it? Fuck, Scott, you started that explanation sounding like I was dying. Thanks for that, buddy.”

“You could have, Stiles. You were close to... Dude, you could have...”

Stiles didn't deny that his body still hurt. His knees buckled and wanted to fold under his weight. So maybe he wasn't perfectly fine, but he was fine _enough_. Carefully, Stiles used the counter to help himself tiptoe over to the pantry. Lazy, and suddenly starving, he popped open the foil of a stray package of pop-tarts and started eating the little pastry without toasting it. Scott frowned at him, clearly not done talking. So, Stiles waited for him to continue, chewing the bland and weirdly doughy pastry in silence.

“Stiles, please stop acting like this is nothing,” he begged. “You were attacked and kidnapped. None of this was an accident.”

“I figured that much out, Scott,” Stiles spoke over him. He shrugged and wagged the pop-tart around getting crumbs everywhere. “Okay, I remember we went to the carnival. I left early for... reasons... Shit hit the fan. Then, all I can remember is you guys growling... It's still fuzzy.”

Obviously, shit had happened to him. Lots of bad shit. There were itchy scabbing along his hair line as proof of it. He'd be hit hard and bled a lot. But he was here, and a live. He hadn't fallen into a coma. There was no long term memory loss that he could overly tell. And what he couldn't remember would come back to him in time - probably. That sort of thing happened with concussions. However, there was no brain swelling, and no more bleeding.

Scott took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Derek bit you.”

Stiles dropped the pop-tart and stared straight through Scott's head. _What? No, he didn't. He wouldn't do that._ Crumbs fell out of Stiles mouth as he blurted, “he-What?” He coughed on a stray sprinkle but still waved dramatically at his friend to keep going. “Bit? Like, 'imma eat you' bite or 'your gonna start howling at the moon' bite?”

Thankfully, for now Scott wasn't going to take offence to that because he didn't even bat an eye over the comment. Instead, he walked over and tugged on the collar of Stiles' stretched out t-shirt. The fabric was pulled down over his shoulder to reveal a medley of bruised splotches and abrasions. It was an awkward position but Stiles managed to crane his neck enough to see most of the solid teeth imprints left in his skin. They didn't look scabbed or infected at all. The red ridges of the marking looked almost apart of him. Stiles heartbeat sky rocketed.

“What the hell? Scott, is that-am I-what do I do?” Stiles grabbed onto the counter about ready to have a full on melt down right there. Sweat was breaking out over his skin, stinging with heat. His body shook. He had memories of the cellar but only barely, it had been too dark to see much of anything, so it had been just a black room. After that, there was nothing. Stiles didn't remember Scott coming to get him. He didn't remember anything. Maybe he did pass out without noticing, maybe his brain was fucked up.

Very slowly, broken fragments fluttered through his head. The more he tried to think about it, the more random clips came to mind. The ugly hunters. The truck. The darkness. Even Derek. Stiles hiccuped on a sob. He didn't remember Scott coming to save him, because Derek was the one to find him down in the cellar. Only, it wasn't really his Derek. He could see the fully shifted wolf in his mind, stalking toward him like a born predator. He saw the red alpha eyes. The sharp wet teeth dripping with blood.

“He bit me...” Stiles repeated, breathless.

“Stiles, it's going to be okay.” Scott tried to reassure him, softly promising him that everything would work out. That he was going to have a strong, capable alpha, and the whole pack was all there for him. He'd never go rogue or become an omega. It was all suppose to be comforting. Glossing over and dismissing the very real possibility that Stiles' body could still reject the bite, and the he could potentially die. But Scott was being positive and supportive, straight up denying that anything bad would happen to Stiles.

It was nice of him to try. Although, Stiles wasn't feeling so hopeful. Of course Scott would be there for him as alpha. That wasn't something he had to promise. He believed him, but that did not change how his potential death weight on him. He wouldn't die from hunters, Stiles would be killed by a forced bite on his unwilling and battered body.

Stiles looked at his best friend intently. Scott had over looked to mention something in all his promising and reassurance.

“Where's Derek? He's not here... I know he's not. So, where is he, Scott? He bit me. So, why is he not here?”

“That's a little complicated-”

“Like hell it is. Tell me. Scott, for the love of god, spit it out! Is he alright? Is he okay? Did something happen to him? Fuck, man, tell me now before I literally go crazy.” Stiles took an uneven breath. A strong hand was put on his covered shoulder so to not touch the bite mark. Scott gently helped Stiles take a seat on the floor before he started to hyperventilate and run the risk of falling.

“He's at the loft. He's alive, and he's fine... now.” Scott hummed uncomfortably and knelt down.

“What do you mean 'now'?”

“Okay...uh... He ran off a head. I didn't know he'd do _that_ to you.” Scott could see the frustration setting into the frown lines on Stiles' face. He wasn't going to be the best at explain all this but he still tried. “Those hunters had this stuff. It looked like animal tranquilizers, but they weren't. Deaton's still trying to work out what it actually is... Anyway, it made Derek go all crazy and violent.”

“He was shot up with something?” Stiles watched Scott's face nervously.

“A drug, maybe. It was found in his blood when we got him to Deaton's. It didn't last long in his system and he was able to turn back... So either the drug isn't strong enough, or it's not fully developed. Like it was all some sort of test run. I mean, that's the current theory right now... Their set up at the house was really thrown together... They probably could have easily killed each other just trying to get one of us... But-Hey, no, Stiles, look at me - Derek's okay. He's better now. I promise.”

Stiles' heart clenched. So, at least Derek was better. That was one worry aside for now. “Right...but... Still, he just left me - again. He's at home and I'm here. That's what you're saying. He bites me and doesn't bother to stick around long enough to see if I died in my sleep.” Stiles sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. He was willing himself to not break down and cry over not only Derek's severe rejected but also the soul crushing abandonment of his new alpha. He was already too hot and irritated to handle much more of this. Stiles was scared. He was in pain. And all he wanted was Derek.

“No, no. That's not it. Derek couldn't control himself with the biting... He never meant to do that to you. And after he shifted back and was himself again, he didn't even remember doing it. I had to tell him...”

“Oh that makes me feel so much better, Scott.”

Scott sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He really didn't know what to say to convince Stiles that his new alpha hadn't up and left him for dead. “You were still at the hospital. At the time it was safer for you if he stayed away. That's the only reason, I promise. Once you were awake and feeling better we were going to take you to him or have him come here. He wouldn't abandon you. That's not what's happening here, I swear.”

“He already did!” Stiles sulked and dropped his chin to his chest. He bit the bullet and slowly said, “I slept with him. I slept with him and it meant nothing to him. I didn't hear from him all week. 'Wasn't like I was expecting much afterwards, but he just looked right through me like I wasn't even there. Scott, do you have any idea what that feels like? Now, he's done _this_ to me, whether he meant to or not – whatever – but he's not here to take responsibility for that.”

Scott nodded, understanding his struggle. He wanted to side with his friend on this and be mad for him, but it wasn't that simple. Things were more complicated than choosing sides and saying who was right and how. “Derek told me that part. But it's not what you think,” he kept insisting.

Stiles scoffed and hugged himself. “Oh, then please tell me. Because I'd love to hear what he had to say about his fuck and run. Or about the kidnapping thing. Or about the fact that he _bit_ me!”

Scott wet his lips and tried to speak but kept blushing awkwardly. He could only tell Stiles so much, and only what Derek said to him. So he skipped that part, wanting those two to work it out for themselves. But he could say one thing. After a long pause he finally worked out, “you know how I can't go a day without seeing Allison, being near her, or touching her?”

“Dude, how is your weirdness relevant here?”

“It is, seriously. Let me finish... I can't physically go without her for too long. I get all crazy anxious. Not seeing her would drive me insane. Like, literally insane. I'm not exaggerating. She's not just my girlfriend, she's my mate. And she knows werewolves, dude, she knows what that means and how important it is to us. You don't, yet. Or didn't, before. I mean, you'll get it.”

“Scott-”

“Because Derek is your mate, Stiles. It's the same thing. You two were bonding long before you... did it. And even if you didn't ever turn, Derek would still be your mate. He'd never be able to stay away from you - not forever. He couldn't. It's not possible for us. The only reason why he's not here right now is because we-I made him stay at the loft. It wasn't his choice. Here, he'd be pacing the hallway outside your door, making everyone uncomfortable, and you needed the rest.”

Scott huffed and sat down fully on the floor, looked at him sympathetically. They were silent again for a moment before he continued, a little slower and more gentle. “Derek was drugged and lost all control. He went full wolf and bit you. He fought me over you. Believe me, he wants to be here. It's hard for everyone, because he didn't give you this choice. You didn't want it...”

“I want...” Stiles shook his head. No, he didn't want to be a werewolf. He was totally pro-human for himself. This wasn't his choice, Scott was right. And all this mate talk sounded like total garbage. But Stiles knew better than to brush it off. He'd seen way too much of Scott and Allison to deny that it was true. He let his head fall back against the cupboard behind him. His breathing had slowed down, heart beat returned to normal and he wasn't soaked in sweat.

Honestly, he should be far more pissed off than he actually was. He should want to rip Derek's head off with the sharp nails he was going to sprout soon, because that's what he deserved. For some reason though, Stiles didn't want to be mad, not in the way he should logically be. And if he were being totally honest, at the end of the day, after everything was said and done, he just wanted to be with Derek. Human or werewolf. Friend, lover, or mate. It sounded so simple in his head.

“Is that why the bite hasn't killed me yet? Because I'm my alpha's mate?”

“Maybe. I don't know.”

 _Helpful_. Stiles fidgeted and pulled his knees into his body, hugging them close. “So, recap, just for my own peace of mind... Derek and I are mates. And I'm going to turn into a werewolf.” Scott nodded. “Okay, just making sure I got this all straight... Does my dad know?”

“No.. Not to put that on you or anything, but I didn't want to be the one to tell him.”

“Right, duh.”

Stiles snickered a little at that. Honestly, he didn't want to either. He more than once expressed his indifference about becoming a werewolf, and his dad seemed happy with that choice. This was going to come as quite the shock to him later. Stiles shook his head slowly. He closed his eyes for a few short breath in order to calm himself down. There was no going back now.

“Promise Derek didn't abandon me?” He asked Scott. There were still so much he wanted explained to him, but right now this was all he cared to know.

“Last time I went to check on him, he'd broken the coffee table and tore the whole railing off the stairs. Then I found him buried under his bed sheets - which smelt way too much like you for my liking, thanks for that.”

That was as close to a promise as far as Stiles could tell. He smiled a little bit through the anxiety and fear. “Can we... can I go see him? Or am I still under twenty-four hour surveillance by you guys?”

Scott chuckled before helping him stand up again.

 

 

The ride over to the loft wasn't as tense as Stiles originally thought it might be. He'd gotten a quick shower and managed to change without falling over or breaking anything. But the whole time he was continuously panicking on the inside, thinking about what he could or even should say to Derek, how to bring up the whole subject of _them_ , and what would happen after that. All the ways it could go wrong, as well as how it could go right. He never expected there to even be a _them_ or _this_ , whatever that meant. One minute he's hoping to not lose a friendship and the next he's told he's been mated to a werewolf. Not to mention the fact that he was going to turn into one as well under the next full moon. He really shouldn't ignore that little tidbit of information. So obviously, no matter how much Scott told it that it'd be fine, Stiles still freaked out.

However, as they parked along the curb and Stiles looked out the window at the tall building, he felt strangely calm. It was like coming home after a long trip, familiar and comforting in all the best ways. He took a long breath before turning to Scott. His friend was watching him from the driver's seat. There was a silent conversation going on between them. Scott's warm smile told him to go. Then he reached over and gave Stiles a little punch to the arm.

“Yeah, so, I'll just...” Stiles started but trailed off. He pointed at the building absentmindedly with a finger. He was given a nod before being answered with a casual 'yup'.

“Think you can make it up there on your own?”

“I'll be fine, Scott. Don't worry.” Stiles undid his seat belt and went to open the door. “If my dad calls...”

“What do you want me to tell him?”

“There's probably nothing you could tell him that'd make him happy about his injured son not being home in bed... So, just tell him that it's a pack thing for now. I'll explain it to him later. I swear.”

“No problem.”

“Thanks, Scottie.”

Stiles tried not to fall out onto the sidewalk. He could walk, really he could. It was just that his body was tired and sore in places he wasn't use to being bruised. It would pass with time, he knew that. Small steps that didn't strain his limbs carried him over the concrete. He looked upwards again toward the top. For some reason the short walk into the building felt daunting, like every step was going to get him in some shade of trouble or instead of finding Derek healed safely at home, he'd be walking into a crime scene of torn apart furniture and a broken wolf clawing at himself out of guilt. Stiles wanted him to be up there waiting for him with open arms and ready to return all the love that he felt for that grump dumb ass.

The closer Stiles got to the lift inside, the less concerned he was about his own physical discomfort. He kept looking above him, knowing the somewhere up there was Derek. He bit his lip, wishing he could just teleport up to him. Even thought he'd been told repeatedly that Derek was fine, Stiles wasn't going to believe it until he saw him with his own eyes.

Something deep inside him heated to the point of boiling, a burning need he didn't understand. It nagged and pleaded with him to hurry and find Derek, to be near him again, to see and feel him, and know he's safe. Then he'd never let him go again. It left him so breathless and aching that Stiles had to grab onto the elevator's door to not collapse. He wanted to whine and cry out, scream until Derek came down to get him. A sad whimper left him and Stiles slammed the door to the lift shut. The metal elevator squealed and started to move upwards towards the top floors. It couldn't moving fast enough, no matter how much he told it to.

When he reached the top and the elevator came to a stop, he didn't even get the door open the whole way before he ran out of the lift. That didn't matter enough to him. He ducked around the door, heart pounded loudly in his ears. It had never sounded so clear to him before, or maybe it wasn't even his own. If he weren't distracted by thoughts of Derek, he might have stopped to consider what was happening to him. But he didn't care about all that right now. That was a thought for later.

The door to the loft was opening before he even touched the cool metal handle. Stiles saw the small opening, big enough to slide through, as well as the solid body on the other side. He threw himself at it, wanting to get his arms around that mass of skin and muscle, wrapped deliciously in a tight black t-shirt. All the tension in his body evaporated instantly as Stiles buried his nose into the collar of that shirt, and he was more than happy to rub his cheek against the fabric. It soothed his anxieties and doubts and left him feeling like warm goo. Arms wrapped around him to bring him closer.

Stiles didn't really register being picked up off the floor until his back was pressed up against the cold wall. The chill shot up his back but hands founds a place to hold him in place around his hips, pushing up his shirt in the process to explore the skin there. He felt secure that way, like there was no chance he could be dropped or hurt. Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek's torso. His ankles hooked around one another to bring their bodies as close as possible. The very small space between their chests closed, filled with the friction of rubbing clothes. Far too many clothes.

Stiles slipped his hands off Derek's shoulders, letting his fingers sink under the collar of the shirt wanting desperately to touch bare skin. It was hotter than normal under his finger tips, and slightly dampened with sweat. He was almost concerned by the temperature alone and was going to stop to ask if everything was alright, but that's when Derek placed a wet kiss over the bite on his shoulder and nipped him through the shirt. Stiles let out a broken sound, both from surprise and sudden arousal.

“Stiles, I-” Derek buried his nose into the side of his neck, softly breathing in the deep scent and warmth coming off his body. His nose dragged along the length of skin, lightly rubbing. The tip of his tongue flicked out to taste Stiles' sweat.

It was so comforting and nice to be held like that. Stiles let his head fall back against the wall, eyes blissfully closing. “I know,” he said.

“You're-”

“Yeah...” Stiles knew exactly what he meant.

“Because of me-”

“I guess...” he groaned softly, hips rolling lazily against him. “You're, kinda like, I dunno... my alpha now? And my mate and all.”

Derek unfortunately removed his head from the crook of Stiles' neck in order to look at him. Stiles reluctantly came up from his happy place to look back at Derek's face. There was a mixture of feelings displaced there, guilt, fear, a sliver of hope. His thick brown crunched low over his bright eyes. It deeply hurt to see him like this. Stiles whined low and leaned forward to nuzzle against the stubble along the man's jaw.

“You understand what that means?” Derek asked, returning the affectionate gesture.

Stiles hummed affirmatively in response. Honestly, Scott had done a pretty good job earlier at trying to tell Stiles about the whole mate thing. The uncontrollable need and wanting. He didn't need to be told all that. He understood that already. Because human's had a similar concept, soulmates, the idea of one person in the whole world designed for you alone. It was the same thing. Derek had always been that way to him. He loved him. And human or werewolf, that wouldn't change.

“Yeah,” he answered softly. Gently, he took his hands out from the back of Derek's shirt in favour of slipping them into his hair. The long dark brown-black strands felt oddly soft, or maybe he was just extra crazy today. “But... this whole mate thing, it's not just because sleeping together gave you some weird, overly protective instincts towards me, right? It's because of me? You want me?”

“Yes, Stiles.” He pulled back enough to watch him. Derek's eyes turned almost pleading. It was obvious by his expression that he thought Stiles didn't believe him. It hurt seeing that sad face, begging for love and acceptance.

Stiles slid his fingers down over Derek's cheeks to his jaw line where he could hold his face in his hands. Light little strokes were dragged over stubble soothingly. He smiled brightly. Everything in him screamed out to love his mate and do everything to make him happy. And who was Stiles to ignore that kind of need. So, not caring about any of his unhealed bruises, Stiles pressed harder into Derek, clinging to him like life depended on not air but his touch. He rubbed and scented him without realizing it. The attention and occasional lick caused Derek to let out a throaty moan of approval, head tilting back.

“I love your stupid, grumpy face,” Stiles told him, coming up for a kiss. He pressed their lips together firmly for the first time all week. It was soft and slow at first, growing more eager and needy with each breath. Stiles moaned into the kiss, losing himself in pure ecstasy. Heat and friction overwhelmed his senses, pulling desperate whimpers out of him that he couldn't care to stop. Stiles desperately tugged at the layers of clothes between them, finding there to be too many. His nailed clawed at the shirt Derek wore, trying to get him to catch onto the idea of taking it all off.

Derek must have been feeling the same way about the clothing, because he easily held Stiles up by the hips, his single arm wrapped tightly around him. He carried Stiles though the loft, peeling off their clothes piece by piece until they were completely naked. It as a blur of flying fabric, scattered across the floor in their wake. Neither cared where it all landed. The only thing important was the newly uncovered skin that needed to be felt and tasted. Eager lips pressed and moved together, a fang slipped out to nip and tease.

Stiles gasped over the light sting to his mouth. He leant back just enough to see the smug smirk Derek was giving him.

“Fuck, Der.” He snorted softly.

“That's the idea.”

Stiles might have come up with something to say in response, something witty or equally suggestive, but there was a tongue moving against his ear and all words failed him. All he could manage was light panting and the throaty groan of Derek's name. That damn tongue was so distracting that he had no idea how they managed to find and collapse onto Derek's bed without breaking anything in their path. Or maybe they did. Stiles rolled his head away from the hot mouth against his skin.

Some how, he managed to pry himself out of Derek's arms long enough to shove the guy flat on his back. The tight grip on his hips didn't want to part them even for a moment, they pressed into his skin and massaged the tense muscles there. The pressure suggested Stiles stay put, but he had other plans. He wanted to touch every curve and dip of the solid body next to him. He rubbed himself up against Derek until he swung his leg over his waist.

Derek watched, marvelled by Stiles sitting back to straddle his hips proudly. The temptingly smooth skin of that bare ass rubbed in just the right way against him. Stiles ran his nail slowly over his rib cage, teasing each curved and indent in the tight muscle. He watched the love bleed through those whiskery eyes locked on him. They said so much without a single word - lust, need, loyalty.

“I love you,” slipped out of him when it was only meant to remain a private thought. Immediately Derek wanted to shrink away out of uncontrollable fear of rejection. Even though he knew it was impossible. Stiles would never do that to him, ever. They were mates. They were connected. He shied away from the fingers reaching for his face. The slight calloused tips founds a place to hold along his jaw, rubbing over his stubble.

“I love you too,” Stiles whispered back.

Derek turned his face to look back at him in time to have Stiles lean forward for a kiss. It was gentle and warm, lingering even after their lips stopped. Lips continued to press together unmoving yet no less a comfort. Their breathing mixed and tickled their skin. Stiles couldn't stop himself from smiling like an idiot, eyes fluttering open to see the peaceful look on Derek's face.

The tender moment was quickly broken. One kiss lead to another. Nothing was drawn out or executed with practice finesse. Their bodies moved together in needy passion, too eager to touch and feel. Sweat beaded on their skin, slipping as they pressed together and rocked their bodies greedily. Derek held him close with a bruising tightness. His finger prints left crescent moon purple marks on Stiles' pale skin. The beautiful hue faded within seconds, but only to be recreated elsewhere.

Stiles let out a thrilled whine, pressing back into Derek's hard body. He placed hot kisses along his mate's neck, leaving moist skin as he moved down to his collarbone. The hint of sharp fangs he never had before wanted to poke through the tanned skin there, sink deep into his skin and leave a permanent marking that showed everyone that Derek was his. The urge to bite him left Stiles a blubbering wreck. Not sure if he should though, he dropped his forehead to Derek's shoulder, breathing heavily. He moaned and cried for more, so much more than the quick thrusts up into his body.

Fingers curled in his hair, tugging and moving him back to where he was before, with his mouth pressed close to Derek's collar. The hand in his hair held him there. Stiles looked up to see alpha red eyes staring back at him. It was as much permission as he needed in his fucked out of his mind state. An unnatural purr left his throat and he nosed at Derek's skin. It smelled faintly of his cologne, like earthy sweat and that scent that was strictly Derek. Overwhelmed and strung out, Stiles sunk his teeth into the tender skin under his mouth. The sudden sensation of hot blood filling his mouth was startling and also perfect.

Derek wrapped his arms tightly around Stiles, feeling light headed over being bit. He smiled through the haze, wanting it to last forever.

The two finally came down, sticky and sweat drenched, tasting of copper and salt. Stiles had his nose shoved into the side of Derek's neck. He didn't want to leave for anything. The world could be ending and he wouldn't want to move. A hand rubbed at his side lazily, reassuring him silently of everything he needed in that moment - that they were safe, together, and everything was as it should be. He let himself laugh a little around mouthing kisses into Derek's skin. Tiredly he blinked but found the strength to nuzzled and say softly,

“Derek.” His voice was a little horse from screaming and moaning, but the name rolled off his tongue like melted chocolate it tasted so good.

“Stiles.” Derek's cheek rubbed against his hair. “We really should talk about this.”

It really burst his bubble. Stiles groaned with disapproval and hugged the hard torso closer. “No,” he argue childishly. “Don't want to. Too tired now.”

“Seriously, Stiles-”

“No. No serious talk during my post sex snuggling. So, shut up and hold me, Der.”

Derek heavily sighed and pulled his body closer. It gave Stiles the perfect opportunity to nuzzled back into the hot bare skin under his cheek. There was a happy, content breath shared between them.

 

 

Stiles tried not to think too much about the passed week of his life. It made him anxious, like climb the walls, could run a marathon, high energy anxious. Seriously, didn't being a werewolf help with all that shit? Even on his ADHD medication, taken in high doses, he couldn't sit still long enough to rationalize his thoughts. So, he tried not to think at all. Unfortunately though, it didn't really work.

Derek promised him that after his first full moon all his newly developing crazy habits would even themselves out, that he'd feel normal again. And he wanted to believe him, but the next full moon was days away. Stiles was thinking that in the time it took for the damn moon to come and go, he'd claw his skin off and go running through town screaming bloody murder.

It also didn't help that Derek was spending so much time out and away from him. He and Scott had gone back to the farm house to look for clues. They tried tracking the hunters but didn't make it very far. Even Chris couldn't find much on them through what description they could offer him. It was looking like a dead end. Which seemed ridiculous when Stiles was told this. They had been armature hunters, mediocre at best. They shouldn't be hard to find. And they probably would, Scott assured him, but it would take time and more help.

Stiles' concern was that they'd come back, with bigger guns and a finished poison. It made his insides curl every time he thought about it. The idea that Derek could be in danger made him want to go crazy. He ground his teeth, clawed at the furniture, snapped at anyone who came too close. Only Derek's calm voice could tear him away from ripping the sofa apart. He'd come close, speaking in the softest tone he could manage. Light fingers would run through Stiles' hair in an affectionate pet. Then he would have to manually dislodge the sharp, grown out nails that were embedded in another piece of living room furniture. After the first time that happened, everyone found it best that Stiles stay at Derek's loft until after the full moon. The sheriff didn't argue this, obviously wanting to keep his house intact.

Not surprisingly, his dad was fully accepting of everything. After everything it was kind of hard not to accept the supernatural shit right in front of your face. However, there was a fine line between accepting and actively supporting it all, and Stiles was convinced his dad wasn't ready to jump on the 'my son's a werewolf bandwagon'. He wasn't kicking his son out or anything, only distancing them because he wasn't equip to help how Stiles needed right now.

It was better this way anyhow. The loft smelt like Derek and Stiles, with the odd smattering of pack. It was far more soothing than his own room now. The best part, Derek was there almost all the time in quite company. Every night after he and Scott patrolled around town, he's come back for a late dinner and lots of cuddling. Turned out scary faced Derek was just a huge teddy bear. The undivided attention left Stiles feeling secure enough that his anxiety would fizzle out, allowing him to catch a little bit of sleep without jumping awake every few minutes.

Even now, Derek was rubbing his back as they lay in bed in the early morning hours. They didn't have to be up for anything in a while still, but some times Derek couldn't sleep and Stiles would wake up to him like this. It was two days before the full moon and with the passed week behind them, it was Stiles who was too restless. Even sweaty, mind blowing, bruising passionate sex couldn't tire him out long enough to keep him from twitching and shaking. Derek was looking sympathetically at him. Stiles just smiled, and turned his face half into the pillow, giving him more access to the skin of his neck. Derek inaudibly mumbled something under his breathe and planted a soft kiss on the back of his neck where the scabs had been.

Stiles hummed and wriggled deeper into the mattress. He'd had a headache all night so sleep wasn't the best. His ears were picking up every sound in the loft, some times throughout the whole building. It was over whelming. But this was fine, this was nice. Derek was there with him. He reminded himself of this as he let his eyes finally open for the day. They fell onto his mate, laying on his side. Derek still looked like he was trying to sleep, but his arm was stretched over to run up and down Stiles' bare back. From the way those eyebrows were pinched together he knew there was an internal dilemma going on in the man's head that was keeping him from sleep in the same way his newly developing senses were doing for himself. Stiles reached out and placed a hand on Derek's chest. His fingers traced over the smooth skin and hair.

“Der, you look like grumpy cat,” he said, half muffled by the pillow. Derek didn't open his eyes at all but the crease in his forehead loosened up a bit. Stiles chuckled.

“I do not,” he said back sleepily with a little bit of a slur. The hand he had on Stiles' back moved up to loosely hold the back of his neck, thumb dragging long stroke behind his ear. “How's your head?”

“Better,” Stiles purred. He wanted to press back into the hand but he held still, letting Derek do as he wanted. “That feels good there.”

“Yeah?”

They lay there peacefully, as if their comfortable little bubble couldn't be ruined by anything in the world, natural or supernatural disasters and the like. But it didn't take an invasion of ghost riders, hunters or killer fairies to pop their bubble, it only took Stiles' over acting brain. His smiled dipped a little, mind not letting him rest any longer. It was that damn anxiety poking him repeatedly, feeling him every negative outcome to every life choice he could possible make within the next minute, day or week. He looked at Derek who was trying to look as relaxed as possible. However, Stiles wasn't buying it. The little crease between his brows gave everything away. They guy was just as stressed out as he was. Stiles gabbed his finger into Derek's expose rib cage. The man immediately jumped. Though somewhere in his mind, Stiles imagined he sensed it coming.

“What was that for?” he asked, lifting his head to look at Stiles. He watched his mate roll onto his back.

“You keep frowning. Stop it. And if you say sorry one more time-”

“Sorry... It's just that-”

“You keep apologizing, Derek. I'm fine. It happened-”

“It shouldn't have happened!”

“Derek-”

“You didn't want this. I ruined you-”

Stiles literally punched him. It might not have been a good punch. He was lying on his back after all and it was thrown at a weird angle, so he almost missed. But his fist met with Derek's shoulder with a light thump. Derek looked at the fist then to Stiles' face, perplexed.

With a little bit of a struggle because Stiles sure as hell didn't have his werewolf abs yet, and he doubted he was ever going to develop them, he used his legs as leverage to sit up. He glared down at Derek who remained laying back.

“You didn't ruin me,” he said, voice getting louder. It wasn't a threatening tone, not that Stiles was anywhere close to being a _threatening_ individual or even intimidating, yet Derek still flinched like he was expecting to be scolded or disciplined. Stiles' shoulders slumped forward as he let out a long sigh. He moved closer, draping his body over top of Derek's stretched out form. “It's not your fault. I don't blame you. How many times do I have to tell you that? Dude, I've told you over any over. And you won't listen to me. You keep getting that sad abandoned puppy look in your eyes and I hate it.”

Derek opened his mouth to say something to that but Stiles clamped a hand over his face. “Seriously?” Came from behind the palm, slightly muffled but still perfectly understandable. Really, why did people think a hand over a mouth silenced anything? Derek's expression conveyed exactly that with his raised brow and unimpressed stared. But instead of moving away, Stiles left his hand there as a _suggestion_ that Derek stop talking, and continued with what he had be saying.

“It happened. Maybe not under the best conditions and all... and I'll admit, it wasn't something I wanted... at all.. like at all. I really didn't want to. It's been offered and I said no, repeatedly. Being a werewolf looks all cool and shit but it wasn't something I personally wanted. No matter how awesome it actually is. Yeah, but, I was totally happy being a plain old human. I was good. But! But-Derek, but, this happened and I'm okay with it. Whatever happens from here on, I'm going to be there for you and I know you'll be there for me. And if you cold shoulder me again, I swear I'm going to bite your ear off.”

Derek looked at him funny. He reached up to loosely grip Stiles fingers and pulled the hand away from his mouth. “Why my ear?” was what he asked. Because that's what was the important thing to take away from what had been said.

Stiles shrugged. “Because you have two? And I can't very well bite off your dick, I like that part of you.”

“But you don't like my ear?”

“I just said you have two of them. If I bit off the one, then I'd give double the attention to the other. And you'd still have super hearing and all that with just the one. You'd be fine.”

“Jesus Christ...” Derek rolled his eyes playfully in mock exasperation. He chuckled deeply before leaning up to give Stiles a gentle kiss on the lips.

Stiles relaxed into Derek's warm touch. Right here, this was good. Everything was fine like this.

 

.....

 

Stiles shouldn't feel so scared, but he was. He was standing in the middle of the preserve, trees on all sides of him. It was dark but that did not scare him. The sun had long gone down, yet he could see each branch and rock fairly well. Stiles swallowed heavily looking from each tree to the next. He could see weird little details that he wouldn't have been able to find except under direct sunlight during mid afternoon. It would have been cool if his insides weren't trying to rip his body apart in weird ways. His skin itched like a rash had broken out all over, his gums hurt, and his head was pounding. At one point he had bit into his lip out of nerves. His teeth ground sharply into the tender skin causing him to bleed. But within minutes, then damn thing healed itself back up so he could do it all over again.

Stiles let out a shaking breath and tilted his chin up, looking toward the grey clouds over head. The sky was mostly covered in the dark clouds, but somewhere beyond that were many stars and a large full moon. It hadn't completely risen yet. The hour was still early. However he could feel the pull, the magnetic force of the moon that tugged on his inner wolf. Somewhere deep inside of him was a throaty howl that wanted to come out. Stiles wanted to throw his head back and call for Derek, for Scott, and the rest if their pack. Strange instincts lit up his soul with new found energy.

Everyone was on their way. He was in no danger there. Derek was less than a few yards away from him now. Stiles could hear bare feet crunching over leaves and snapping twigs as the guy prowled around the trees to make sure everything was safe for their run. And it wouldn't be just the two of them for much longer, Scott would be on his way directly from his late shift at work. The pack would follow as they always did on full moons. The only difference was, instead of a human participating, they had a new werewolf to keep an eye on.

Obviously, he was a little concerned on the matter of it being his first full moon. No one had chained him down to anything or handcuffed him yet. There had been some talk of that, if it should be in Scott's basement, Derek's loft, the woods, but it hadn't really occurred to Stiles till now that he had no idea what was planned for him. He didn't feel too anxious or even all that restless, just nervous fear - but also a little excitement.

He curled his toes in the grass, feeling the way it moved under his feet. The dirt churned between his toes, feeling grainy and cold. The woods smelt so fresh and alive. The bark on the trees was dry from the heat of the day and it mellowed their scent enough to not overpower him that much. Stiles was grateful for everything somehow working out tonight. He'd seen so many other first full moons go... hazardously. So, he had been doubting his would be any better. However, as the moon slowly rose behind the clouds, and while his fingers impatiently twitched, Stiles didn't feel unable to control himself. He didn't want to take off on his pack. He wanted to be a part of it.

The rustle of some foliage brought him out of his thoughts and Stiles turned to see Derek stepping over a shrub. He was calm, even though his shoulders held some tension of anticipation. It was clear that he was eager to shift and run through the preserve on all fours, to roll in the grass and stain his fur. Stiles smiled at him, thankful that he was holding back so well and all for him. If this was any other full moon run, Stiles would be sitting under a tree wrapped in a blanket was the wolves played in the woods, using up their excess energy for the month.

“Nervous?” Derek asked moving a little closer. He already knew the answer. Anyone could smell it in the air for miles. Still, he asked anyway out of courtesy. The answer however was given as a small shrug as Stiles anxiously started to tug at the hem of his shirt. Those pale fingers curled around the stripped fabric, pulling and stretching it quietly. Derek stepped in close, wanting to put them chest to chest. The space between them disappeared quickly.

Stiles' hands left the his shirt and came to rest on Derek's naked chest. The skin was warm there, and he could feel a steady heart beat under his palms. It was soothing in all the right ways.

“Don't be scared. You've been doing really well.”

“I've lived vicariously through many first full moons, so I better be doing well,” Stiles said to him tipping his head back a little to look up at his mate. Derek nodded and smiled, clearly proud.

“I guess that's true.” Derek could hear off in the distance, multiple feet trudging through the grass. The others were on their way. The wind blew the scent of Erica's perfume passed them. The floral notes were mixed with smells from the vet clinic that lingered on Scott's clothing. Derek leant down, pressing his nose into Stiles' hair, stealing a quick sniff of the clear scent there. It was preferable to him. The small burst of scent dragged a throaty groaned from him. Derek pulled back, licking his lips suggestively. His eyes flashed their alpha red from behind heavy lids.

Stiles silenced a thrilled squeak as he stared into the bright reds of those eyes. His own amber brown heated, shining like liquid golden in the darkness.

“Derek,” Stiles breathed, suddenly a little light headed.

“I've got you, Stiles, always.”

His nails lightly dragged over Derek's bare skin as Stiles lifted himself onto his toes to offer his alpha a kiss before the rest of their pack arrived to wreck their fun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. And thank you so much for all the wonderful comments and kudos.


End file.
